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HE qIVING

Present.

jj

j by

DAVID WIIEATOH.

CHICAGO AND KANSAS CITY :
WEVER & COMPANY, Publishers.

1SS4.

.W53

THE LIBRARY
OR CONGRESS

WASHINGTON

Copyrighted,

1884.

BY D. H. WEVER.

All Rights Reserved.

The object and scope of this book is told in the introductory-
chapters more satisfactorily and at greater length than could be
done in a preface. The author does not claim to have discovered
new doctrines or principles, but has labored mainly to develop
a method by which the rich fruits of the world’s most advanced
truth and wisdom might be brought within the reach of the com¬
mon toiler’s hands. His work has, therefore, been more that of
an editor than an author. * »

After the plan of the work had been chosen and defined, the
task of culling and arranging the testimony to be obtained from
-every source upon the topics treated proved to be long, laborious
and perplexing. The choicest wisdom of the greatest and best is
found scattered here and there amid vast volumes of matter not
interesting to the general public, and when found it is seldom in
a shape to be presented under a new head and in a different con¬
nection without change. The authorities consulted had in some
cases to be translated, and in many cases to be either wholly
rewritten or largely changed in wording to secure a proper adapt¬
ation. To do this, however, and at the same time do full justice
to the original thinker, has been honestly and patiently attempted
in all such cases.

The names of a few of the leading authorities consulted will
be appended. Space forbids anything like a complete list.

The author is under obligations for assistance in a large share
of the work to Professor M. E. Locke, whose familiarity with the
classical languages, and more particularly with the French and
German literature, made his aid especially valuable.

It must be borne in mind, at all times, that this book is
designed, not for the literary recluse, but for the busy world at

ABERCROMBIE .
ALGER.
ARGYLL.
BACON.

BELL.

BOWEN.

BUTLER.

CARPENTER.

CARL YLE.

COBBE.

COLERIDGE.

/

COMBE.

COMTE.

COUSIN.

DALTON.

DAR WIN.

DA Y.

DESCARTES.

DRAPER.

EO WLER.
FRANKLIN.
GOETHE.
GUIZOT.

HAMILTON

HA VEN.

HEGEL.

IIICKOK.

HOPKINS.

HUXLE Y.

KANT.

LESSING .

LOCKE.

McCOSH.

MILL.

MOORE.

MUELLER.

PALE Y.

PRIESTLE Y.

RICHTER.

RUSKIN.

UEBER WEG.

UP HAM.

WA TTS.

WA YLAND.
WHA TELE Y.
WOOD.

4

- ‘<S>

■O'

■©.

OBJECT AND SCOPE . Page 9

INTRODUCTION.

The Problem of Existence . . 13

The Answer of Ancient Greece 14
The Mediaeval Answer . . .15

Other Answers . 16

The Answer of Jesus . . .17

Modern Answers . 19

GENERAL ANALYSIS OF HU¬
MAN NATURE .... 22

A Plan for the Analysis ... 23

The Analysis (facing pages 24

and 25.)

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

A Complicated Machine . . 26

The Frame . 27

Nutritive Apparatus ... 29

Digestive System . 30

Circulatory System .... 30

Respiratory System .... 32

Nervous System . 34

Organs of Special Sense . . 39

Protective Organs .... 41

Analysis of Bodily Nature . 42

Observations.

Disease and Health .... 43

Physical Cultivation .... 44

Conclusion . 47

GENERAL ANALYSIS OF THE
MIND.

Importance of Mental Science . 51

Present Purpose — Theories . 52

The Analysis . 54

THE INTELLECT.

First Questions . 56

Analysis of the Intellect 63 to 66

67

63
63

Intuition .

Personal Existence
Confidence in our Senses
Confidence in our Mental Proc

esses .

Personal Identity
Adequate Causes ....
Uniformity of Nature
Intuitive Conceptions
Presentative Power, or the

Five Senses .

Sight and Hearing

Touch .

Taste and Smell ....

Distance .

Cultivation of the Senses
False Perception ....

Observations .

Representation ....

Memory .

Recollection — Laws of Associ

ation .

Analysis of Representative Powe

Resemblance .

Contrast .

Nearness .

Cause and Effect

69

69

70

71

73

74

75

76

77

78
81

84

85
83
89

95

96

96

98

99
103

5

6

CONTENTS,

Attention .

Lapse of Time .

Differences .

Repetition .

Relation to General Mental

Power .

Quick Learners . . . . ’.

Influence of Disease
The Law Governing Forgetful¬
ness .

Memory in Animals

Aids to Memory ....

Cultivation of Memory

Imagination .

Excessive Imagination .
Cultivation of Imagination
Highest Uses of Imagination .

REFLECTIVE POWER.

Our Chief Faculty ....

Classification .

Testimony .

Deductive Reasoning .
Inductive Reasoning
Reasoning from Analogy .
Cultivation of Reflection
How to Improve Power of

Thought .

The Use of Thinking .
Natural Methods of Reflection.

How to Think .

The Intellect — Kindred Top¬
ics .

Sleep — Dreams — Somnambu¬
lism .

Insanity .

Intelligence of Animals

THE SENSIBILITIES . . .

Analysis .

The Emotions.

Cheerfulness or Melancholy .

104

105

106

107

109

1 14

115

119

121

123

125

129

134

135
139

143

145

148

153

157

160

162

164

175

179

210

211
229
233

251

254

255

Sorrow at the Loss of Friends .

Sympathy .

Self-Approval, or Disapproval

The Ludicrous .

Surprise .......

The Sublime and Beautiful
Reverence .

THE AFFECTIONS.

Love ........

Love of Husband and Wife
Love of Kindred ....

Love of Friends .

Love of Benefactors

Love of Home and Country .

Hate .

Envy .

Jealousy .

Revenge .

THE DESIRES .

Animal Desires .

Rational Desires ....

Happiness ......

Desire of Knowledge
Desire of Power ....

Desire of Money ....

Ambition or Desire of Superior¬
ity .

Desire of Society ....

Desire of Esteem ....

Hope and Fear .

Observations .

The Part it Plays in Business .
The Inner Life . . .

The Answer .

Esteem and Self-Approval .

Self-Deception .

Man’s Motives .

THE WILL.

First Thoughts .

Habit . .

257

259

262

264

267

267

269

272

272

274

277

282

2S3

285

286

287
288-
289

291

292
292

294

295

296

300

301
305
30S
312

315.

317

319

320
322

324

327

329

CONTENTS.

7

Sphere of the Will .

Analysis of the Will

Motives .

Choice .

Kindred Topics.

Freedom of the Will
Strength of the Will
Cultivation of the Will .
General Summary .

334

335
337
339

343

344

350

351

DUTY.

Origin of Duty .

Nobility of Duty ....
Happiness in Fulfilling Duty .
Analysis of Duty ....
Theories of the Right .

All Duties One .

Diagram of Complete Analysis

DUTIES TO SELF

Self-Torture .
Suicide

Self-Defense .

Intemperance

Licentiousness

Health

Avarice

Ambition ,

Anger .

Jealousy .

Independence

Vanity

False Honor .
Hypocrisy

and Servility

355

353

360

363

366

363

369

370

371
376

378

379
382

333

384

386

388

389
39°

396

397

398

SELF-CULTURE . 401

Physical Culture .... 403

Cultivation of the Mind . . 404

Common Sense . 406

Knowledge . 409

Taste . 421

The Sensibilities .... 423

The Will . 424

Perseverance . 425

Heroism . 429

In the Strife for Perfection . 433

SELF KNOWLEDGE .... 437

Industry . 441

Kindness to Animals . . . 460

DUTIES TO OTHERS ... 470

Analysis . 471

Honesty . 472

Honesty in Business . . . 473

Honorable Shrewdness . . . 474

An Equal Chance . . . .474

Taking Advantage of Ignor¬
ance . 475

Pay as You Go . 480

Mental Honesty . 482

Universal Honesty .... 483

Sympathy . 485

Gratitude . 499

Courtesy . 502

Politeness . 509

Truthfulness . 515

May we Ever Falsify? . . . 516

Evil Speaking . 520

Flattery . 524

Exaggeration . 524

Charity . 530

When and How to Give . . 531

Forgiveness and Tolerance . 536

DUTIES IN THE RELATION¬
SHIPS OF HOME ... 543

Lover and Sweetheart . . 54S

Proper Choice of Persons . . 552

Love . 557

Mutual Honesty . 558

Husband and Wife .... 565

Fidelity and Honesty . . . 569

Patience . 572

8

CONTENTS,

Continued Affection . . . 573

Sharing Cares and Joys . . 577

Mutual Kindness . . . -579

Duties of Parents and Chil¬
dren . 581

Education of Head and Heart 582
Educating the Heart . . . 591

Mutual Respect . 61 1

Discipline . 613

Mutual Love and Kindness . 615

Duties of Brothers and Sis¬
ters . 622

Love and Unity . 623

Duties of Masters and Serv¬
ants . 625

Respect and Kindness of Em¬
ployers . 627

Obedience and Faithfulness . 629

Honesty of Servants . . . 633

Duties of Teachers and Pupils
The Teacher’s Work . . . 635

The Teacher and the Public . 642

Character-Building .... 646

Discipline . 652

Mutual Kindness and Respect 654

DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT . 657

Support in War . 665

Moral Support . 668

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR . 672

THE WORLD OF WORK.

Philosophy of Labor . . . 687

First Questions .... 692

Occupations of Mankind . . 695

The Analysis . 698

The Agricultural Pursuits . 699

Studies of Agricultural Life . 701

Manufactures, Commerce and

Mining . 710

The Learned Professions . 712

Money Making . . . . . 718

Nature and Use of Money . 719

Aiding Influences.

Successful Soliciting . . . 723

Analysis of Solicitor’s Work . 726

Honest Methods in Business . 737

A Common Difficulty . . . 737

CONCLUSION . 742

\

AND

2gg)

E are told that we live in an aee of

o

steam and electricity. We ride
upon the iron steed which out-
speeds the wind, and talk across
any distance in flashes of lightning.
Every art, every science, every branch of
knowledge, is beaten in the mortar of cease¬
less investigation and burned in the crucible
of human needs to yield every possible grain of
aid in the strife for wealth, or fame, or luxury,
or the sterling necessities of life. Such is
“the living present.” Yet, amid all the hurry
of our money-making, fast-living age, is there a single
human being who never has a sober hour of reverie
upon the mysteries of his own existence? An hour
when the deepest questions of life and what life really
is, present themselves for answer? Not one.

The gayest of all the careless and apparently happy
will sometimes come face to face with the stern
thought, “ I cannot always remain so.” The clown

jests even at death, but is some day struck dumb with

9

IO

OBJECT AND SCOPE.

the doubt of what may come after. The man or
woman wrapped in the fitful dreams of wealth or ambi¬
tion, pauses at some moment and asks, “ Of what avail
is it all?” They whose life is one long battle of toil,
or privation, or pain, are asking, “Why is it so?” Even
the little child comes with a grave face and a question
whose answer would baffle the wisest. These queries
must not, dare not be trifled with. They are the
echoes of doubts, of faulty opinions, or discordant
actions. Too few people ever learn to note the deep
harmony that runs through the music of every proper
and true human career. But science finds unison
everywhere in each branch of Nature, and surely man’s
nature, though the highest and most complex of all, is
no exception. It has its center of gravity, its harmony
of existence, to be easily known and understood by the
earnest inquirer.

These are the questions of the present moment, and
the sluggard who neglects to solve them to-day will
have their answers forced upon him by a relentless
eternity too late to profit thereby. And whether it
be the youth just beginning to turn the fresh leaves, or
whether it be the aged who is casting up the accounts
and balancing the last pages of the book, the proper
understanding of himself, his own being, is the chief
key to every doubt of that hour.

As well from every business point of view, these
questions are of vital importance. Upon their answers
depends a person’s purpose in life. How can one be
fully in earnest while having no well-defined purpose,

OBJECT AND SCOPE.

I I

or while in doubt whether his chosen purpose is in
harmony with his highest good? Yet a genuine ear¬
nestness is the necessary soul of success in every
undertaking. These are most practical truths.

Every great thinker whose labors have enlightened
the world, has given some of his best thought to these
questions, and the number of books that in some
degree treat of these subjects has grown so large that
none but scholars of abundant leisure can hope to
examine them. Much of the best matter upon the
science and philosophy of life is too abstract in thought
and too learned in language for the common reader.

And also, many books have been issued in recent
years, full indeed of good, simple, plain advice, and
excellent axioms, all true enough, but omitting the
scientific basis beneath the truths. Each month the
moon renews her slender horn, grows to a full splendor,
and returns again to obscurity. Nobody disputes these
regular occurrences, but the facts alone do not satisfy
us ; we must know why and how. The investigating
spirit of humanity demands and needs to know all there
is to know.

These are some of the reasons for bringing out
another book. It will be the aim of the book to
give a thorough analysis of the human being, its com¬
ponent parts, its capacities, its motive forces, its weak¬
nesses, the laws of its motion and the mysteries of
mind and spirit action so far as agreed upon by the
best authorities. No efforts, however, will be made in
the direction of finely drawn distinctions, or hair-

OBJECT AND SCOPE.

I 2

splitting arguments upon disputed points. It is not
believed that the general public can be best served
by tracing all the minute paths of modern scientific
research. The aim is rather to glean /the rich fields
of thought and present the results for the ready use
of every-day people, freed from the technicalities of
science and suited to the wants of men and women
who have the cares of business and daily life upon
them. No pains nor expense has been spared in a
most thorough consultation of standard authors, with
the constant aim to make this a desirable hand-book
for each human being in each separate “ To-day” of
his life.

*

1

Introduction.

THE PROBLEM OF EXISTENCE.

« IH

=AN’S never-ceasing study of the problem of
I existence has shown itself in a thousand
different forms, and it will be both inter¬
im esting and profitable for our purpose to take
a brief view of the history of this universal
question.

In all ages of the world, the attention of
the wisest men has been attracted to the
great problem of being: What am I ? Why
am I here ? Whither do I go ? “ Know thy¬

self ” was inscribed upon the temple of Apollo
at Delphi, in the sixth century before Christ.
“ Look within,” wrote Antoninus, the great
Stoic philosopher and emperor of Rome, in
the second century after Christ. “The proper
study of mankind is man,” sang the English poet,
Alexander Pope, in the eighteenth century. Each
successive thinker has reverently laid his answer at
the feet of the Sphinx, and passed on into the “ un¬
discovered country,” and the problem still remains
unsolved, the riddle still unguessed. From the time
of the Hindu Rishi down to the time of Hegel and

Fichte, and to the present moment, there has been no

13

i4

INTRODUCTION.

generation that has not made its trial at unraveling
the great mystery, that has not had its data and its
theories, by means of which it thought that the longed-
for solution would finally come.

Man, finding himself placed here, his past and his
future shut off from view by a veil as black and impene¬
trable as night, would gladly know what he is, what he
must do, what is the standard he must attempt to
reach. That is a question of the most vital and imme¬
diate importance to every one. Whence came I, and
whither do I go, are queries which are interesting
mainly for the light their answers would throw upon
the present moment. My duty, that which lies nearest
me — that would I know,, and know at once. Am I to
live for the body, for the mind, or for the spirit, and in
any case how shall I go about it? Widely varying
answers have been given to these questions.

THE ANSWER OF ANCIENT GREECE.

The greatest festival of Greece was confined entirely
to athletic sports,* and the winner of one of those
games, crowned with his simple garland of wild olive,
was the greatest man in Greece. Foreign states some¬
times solicited him to proclaim himself their citizen,
that they might share his honor. He was brought
home through a breach in the city walls, made for the
purpose. Such a conqueror must not enter by the
plebeian gates. In Athens he was rewarded by a
public gift of five hundred drachmae — a large sum of

* Grote’s History of Greece.

THE PROBLEM OF EXISTENCE.

15

money in those times. In Sparta he was given the
place of honor on the battle-field. Indeed, we have
record of three cases where altars were built and sacri¬
fices offered to the victors of Olympia. Bodily strength
and power was their ideal of perfect manhood. This
was the answer given by ancient Greece.

THE ANSWER OF THE MEDIAEVAL MONKS.

Very different was the reply made by the Christian
monks of the middle ages, who inflicted all manner of
penance upon the body and mind, that thus their souls
might be made more pure. As one example out of
ten thousand that might be given, note the career of
Simeon Stylites, a celebrated hermit, who lived from
395 to 451. At the age of thirteen he abandoned his
occupation of shepherd, and confined himself in a
monastery. His term as novice was long and severe,
and he “was repeatedly saved from pious suicide.”
After the expiration of his noviciate, he went to a
mountain, thirty or forty miles east of the city of
Antioch, and there established his residence. He
fastened himself with a heavy chain within a circle of
stones, and gradually built higher the column upon
which he lived, until it reached the elevation of sixty
feet. Upon the summit of this column, sixty feet high,
he lived for thirty years. Habit and exercise instructed
him to maintain his dangerous situation without fear
or giddiness, 'and successively assume the different
postures of devotion. He sometimes prayed in an
erect attitude, with his outstretched arms in the figure -

1 6

INTRODUCTION.

of a cross ; but his most familiar practice was that of
bending his meager skeleton from the forehead to the
feet, and a curious spectator, after numbering twelve
hundred and forty-four repetitions, at length desisted
from the endless count. The progress of an ulcer
in his thigh might shorten, but it could not disturb,
this celestial life ; and the patient hermit expired with¬
out descending from his column.

Successive crowds of pilgrims from Gaul and India
saluted the divine pillar of Simeon ; the tribes of Sara¬
cens disputed in arms the honor of his benediction ;
the queens of Arabia and Persia gratefully confessed
his supernatural virtue ; and the angelic hermit was
consulted by the younger Theodosius, in the most
important concerns of the church and state. His
remains were transported from the mountain of Tele-
nissa, by a solemn procession of the patriarch, the
master-general of the east, six bishops, twenty-one
counts or tribunes, and six thousand soldiers ; and
Antioch revered his bones, as her glorious ornament
and impregnable defense.

OTHER FORMS.

But turning again to the beliefs of ancient origin,
we find the Greek philosopher, Epicurus, teaching that
the highest good is happiness — pleasure — both mental
and physical, but chiefly the former. “ The virtuous
man alone is able to attain the end described. The
virtuous man will attain it without failure. Virtue,
then, is the only possible and the perfectly sure way to

THE PROBLEM OF EXISTENCE. I 7

happiness.” That does pretty well, but we find some¬
thing better still. Plato’s idea was that the highest
good consisted in the nearest possible approach to
God. What a prospect that offers us! Nothing short
of perfection ; divine strength, intelligence and good¬
ness. Plato defines man as “The hunter of truth.”
Lessing somewhere says that if the Almighty, holding
in his right hand Truth , and in his left, Search after
Truth , were to proffer him whichever he were to
request, in all humility, but without hesitation, he
should choose Search after Truth. The race after
truth and divine intelligence is indeed a grandly inspir¬
ing one, and many of the world’s great men have
lived with satisfaction to themselves and benefit to
their fellow beings, mainly guided by the light of this
philosophy.

More than twenty-three hundred years ago the
Chinese philosopher, Confucius, lived and taught, and
his wise sayings will be worthy of consideration
through all the ages yet to come.

Of still greater age are some other of the Oriental
systems of belief. In the sacred writings of Buddhism
are found many sentiments that would rank in the esti¬
mation of the refined thinker of the present age as
truly sweet, and pure, and holy.

THE ANSWER OF JESUS.

About nineteen hundred years ago, there arose one
whose labors have borne greater fruits than any of

them, one who, if he be considered merely as a man,
2

i8

INTRODUCTION.

and laying aside all claims to divinity, was the most
marvelous man of history. He was destined to com¬
mence anew upon the great world-problem, and for
these eighteen and a half centuries that have elapsed
since his death, the work has been progressing slowly
and amid many discouragements and conflicts, often
even amid defeats and backsets, upon the foundation
which he laid. But out of each defeat it arose with
added strength, and its growth still goes on. What
is the central idea of this wonderful doctrine?

The dying words of the eminent Sir James Mack¬
intosh were: “Jesus, love! — Jesus, love! — the same
thing ! ” Those words sound the key-note of Christ’s
teachings; it was emphatically the gospel of love —
“ For God so loved the world.” His life and His teach¬
ings point alike to love as the precious jewel of earth.
Faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is
love. In the course of ages this doctrine has become
so familiar to us that we can scarcely realize its impor¬
tance ; but seen by the light of history, it looms up as
the most momentous fact in the progress of the human
race. To the intellectual Greeks all foreigners were
barbarians ; to the warlike Romans they were enemies ;
to the ascetic Jews they were heathen; to the Chris¬
tian they are men and brothers, children of the same
God. This gospel of love has broken the shackles off
the slaves of Christendom ; it has lessened the fre¬
quency and mitigated the horrors of war ; it has built
asylums for the infirm, hospitals for the sick, homes for
the poor and friendless ; it has filled the land with free

THE ANSWER OF JESUS.

J9

schools and colleges ; it has raised woman from a con¬
dition little better than slavery, to be the friend and
valued companion of man. And the spirit of this doc¬
trine still goes on, warming the hearts of men to deeds
of brotherly kindness, and banishing strife, hatred and
cruelty from the earth.

MODERN ANSWERS.

Although all nations have been wisest and happiest
while holding to the purest and highest beliefs, yet
there has been and still is a class of thinkers who,
seeing that every nation or tribe of people in all his¬
tory has had some form of a solution of the problem of
existence, and that no one has given universal satisfac¬
tion, have concluded that further pursuit of the subject
is folly. They have been disgusted, because the masses
of the less intelligent people have always followed their
chosen teachers more or less blindly, and have done
things because they felt that their doctrines command
them to do so, instead of looking for the wisdom of the
command and then obeying it because it was wise.
Seeing that everything in nature comes about accord¬
ing to fixed rules, and that law seems to be supreme,
they guess that Nature is her own law-maker, and that
it is the part of wisdom to simply let Nature take
her own course. But such stagnant doubt, combined
with idleness of spirit, has proven least satisfactory of
all, and by far the largest array of the intelligence
of this day believes that the lesson of all Nature and
history urges man forever onward and upward.

20

INTRODUCTION.

“ What a piece of work is man ! how noble in rea¬
son ! how infinite in faculty ! in form and moving how
express and admirable ! in action how like an angel ! in
apprehension how like a God!” These lines from
“ Hamlet” eloquently express the modern idea of man.
The prevalent opinion in all Christian countries is that
man is a wonderful triune being : a three in one : body,
mind and spirit, each demanding the highest culture
consistent with the welfare of the others.

These questions and the study of them seem to
grow with the advancement of humanity and to daily
become more and more interwoven with the lives of all.
They combine the ripest wisdom, the richest experience
of the ages, and without expressing a preference for
any one answer, we may draw from the study of the
whole matter the following

GENERAL IDEAS.

1. Since man has always been engaged with his prob¬
lem, and is found in his best condition when pushing
the inquiry to the noblest and grandest answer possi¬
ble, we may conclude that no ordinary career in life,
pursuit, or end secured, can satisfy the innate cravings
of the human heart.

2. Because false views of life have frequently led
the ignorant miserably astray, intelligent readers have
become slow in accepting precepts not fully under¬
stood. They receive commands unwillingly when not
accompanied with the why and wherefore.

3. As a unity of plan is to be seen in all Nature,

GENERAL IDEAS.

21

/

man’s study of himself grows more encouraging, for
he may justly hope that every right rule of action will
be found to be wisely and harmoniously based upon
the true laws of human nature.

4. Another powerful reason why man has so con¬
stantly turned to an examination of the elements of
his own being is that in the commonest business under¬
takings of life a person needs to bring all the forces of
his nature into play to accomplish his ends. This he
cannot do if he is ignorant of them and their relative
strength and importance. Even if a person had no
great object in life to accomplish, he would need to
be familiar with all the springs and motives of human
nature that he might live in peaceful and sympathetic
harmony with his fellow beings.

V

(he.ner.al Analysis of Iugqan Mature.

J

i

9 r.

ft

F

WHY THE ANALYSIS?

F a man were contemplating a trip to France,
he would probably desire to know, before
landing in that country, as much as possible
of its geography, history, customs, language
and literature. Possessing a good general
knowledge of all these things, what pleasure
would be his in treading the classic soil of
that beautiful land, almost every foot of
which is rendered sacred by history. For
him, the old castles that stand upon their
lofty rocks and frown down upon this peace¬
ful age, would have stories to tell of the
sterner and bloodier days when they were
built. Every monastery that he entered
would call up to mind :

“Old legends of the monkish page,

Traditions of the saint and sage,

Tales that have the rime of age,

And chronicles of eld.”

The sunny valleys would re-echo to him the songs
of all ages, from the Troubadours to Victor Hugo.

Without this knowledge he would be in constant per-

23

WHY THE ANALYSIS? 23

•

plexity and doubt. He would meet with things every
day which he could not understand, and would wonder
why people made so much ado over them. His trip
would simply be a dry, profitless journey, and he would
return home having seen, and yet not having seen :
that is, having seen only the surface of things, which
is frequently barren indeed. So, when a man is about
to commence the study of any subject, he will wish to
know the general lay of that subject, how much there
is of it, how it is divided, where the landmarks are, etc.
In short, the more general knowledge he has about it
before he commences to study it in detail, the better
will be his chances for a pleasant and profitable season
of study. All this applies especially to the science of
the nature of man, since clear ideas are of the utmost
importance in any thorough work of this kind.

A PLAN FOR THE ANALYSIS.

In the trial-room of the manufactory stands a really
wonderful machine. It is an improved grain-thresher,
and we are to study the intricacies of its working, and
fully master its every feature. Piece by piece we take
it apart and note the shape, size and use of each.
Every separate device is studied with reference to itself
and its relation to its adjoining parts. One by one
they are labeled and laid out in their proper order until
the analysis is complete.

At last, after days of studious toil, all is familiar.
The parts now assume them places with the readiness

24

GENERAL ANALYSIS OF HUMAN NATURE.

of trained soldiers. The last screw is fastened, and the
machine acts smoothly and harmoniously as a thing of
life. We now understand every part and every motion,
and the machine becomes our faithful servant.

As we studied the machine, so should we analyze
and study every subject that presents itself. So the
farmer studies what sort of crops he shall cultivate,
the merchant what kind of goods will best please his
customers, the doctor notes his patient’s symptoms, and
the lawyer the various aspects of his case in hand. By
the same mental process the school boy solves his ques¬
tion, and in like manner man’s nature will now be
analyzed.

In studying the grain-thresher, it was a great con¬
venience to have the belts all arranged together on one
table and separately labeled ; all the wheels and pulleys
on another table, and all the shaftings on another ;
and it was well to have all the pieces concerned in hull¬
ing the grain marked with red labels ; those concerned
in cleaning it, blue labels, etc. Thus we much more
easily learned the whole.

In making a written analysis of any topic, we need

i

some arrangement to take the place of the tables and
the labels. The brace system of analysis is simple, yet
capable of great thoroughness. The subject under
consideration is placed at the left hand, followed by a
brace, j. All the leading parts or divisions of the
subject are now written one above another at the right
of the brace, and if desirable to subdivide any one of
these parts, another brace is used at the right of it, and

The Nature
of Man.

Frame-work, \ ^°u"^es.

Digestive

System.

Nutritive

Apparatus.

/•Bodily Natures

Mouth.

Teeth.

Salivary Glands.

(Esophagus.

Stomach.

Liver.

Pancreas.

Intestines.

CirCUwX, J Arteries.
System. -j Capillaries.

[Veins.

lRespiratory J South.
System. Air Tubes.

{Brain. [ Lungs.

Spinal Cord. ( Motjon

Nerves . Of Sensation.

f Eye.

Ear.

Skin.

Mouth.

Nose.

Organs of the

Five Senses. -

/-Intuitive

/Intellect. <

Mind Nature.

Power. -

First Truths. -

Intuitive
. Conceptions.

Personal Existence.
Confidence in our Senses.
Confidence in our Mental Pro
Personal Identity.

Adequate Causes.

Uniformity of Nature.

' Space.

Time.

Identity.

Idea of the Beautiful and Sub
. Idea of Right and Wrong.

r sight.

Presentative | Hearing.

Power, i Touch.

•• Taste.

Representative , ^mory . j RecXctkm,1?" ,

' ( Imagination. [Laws of Association.

Reflective , Classification. [Deductive.

Power, -j Reasoning ... 1

' Prima

[Seconr

[Probable. | logy.

/The Emotions.

Sensibilities. <

Rational.

The Affections. -

{Cheerfulness or Melancholy.
Sorrow at the Loss of Friends.
Sympathy with Joy or Sorrow oft

Self-Approval or Disapproval.
Enjoyment of the Ludicrous.
Surprise.

Feeling of Reverence.

Love of Husband and Wife.

Love of Kindred.

Love of Friends.

Love of Benefactors.

Love of Home and Country.

Love.

[Envy.
Hate, j Jealousy.
[ Revenge.

Food.

Animal.

The Desires.

Rest.

Action.

Sex.

' Happiness.
Knowledge.
Power.
Rational. Money.

Superiority.
Society.
Esteem.

When modified j
by expectancy. ( t

CWill.

Necessary Conditions, j Doi^T

The Act. |

Choice.

Volition Proper.

[copyrighted, 18

Self-Torture.
Suicide.

r Protection of Body.-j

Licentiousness.
.Health.

C Duties to Self.

Self-Protection.

Protection of Mind. -

Avarice.

Ambition.

Anger.

Jealousy.

I ndependence and
Vanity. [Servility.
False Honor.

. Hypocrisy.

Self-Culture.

Of the Body.

.Of the Mind.

Self-Knowledge.
v Industry.

'Common Sense.
Knowledge.
Taste.

The Sensibilities.
The Will.
Perseverance.

. Heroism.

[Pay as You Go.

Duties to Others. ^

[ness.

[Honorable Shrewd-

- [Honesty in Business. •{ Equal Chances.

Honesty, -j Mental Honesty.

[Universal Honesty.

Sympathy.

Gratitude.

Pride and Insolence.

Duties in the
Relations
of Home.

_ . j False Prid<

Courtesy. ^ Politeness.

{May we ever Falsify.

Evil Speaking.

Exaggeration.

rviot- j Where and How to Give.

( Forgiveness and Mercy.

[ Proper Choice of Persons.
Of Lover and Sweetheart.-^ Love.

[Mutual Honesty.

Of Husband and Wife. -

Of Parents and Children.

Fidelity and Honesty.
Patience.

Continued Affection.

Sharing Cares and Joys.
Mutual Kindness.

Education of Head and Heart.
Mutual Respect.

Discipline.

Mutual Love and Kindness.

m tj _ j c. , „ ( Forbearance and Kindness.

Of Brothers and Sisters, j Loye and Unity.

[Employers.

[Respect andKindness of

Of Masters and Servants. -! Obedience and Faithfulness.

[Honesty of Employes.

kOf Teachers and Pupils.

'The Teacher’s Work.
Character-Building.

Discipline.

.Mutual Kindness and Respect.

[ Obedience.

^ „ . j Financial Support.

Duties to Government, j Support in

[ Moral Support.

Duties to the Creator.

i

o

1

*

/

A PLAN FOR THE ANALYSIS.

25

the process repeated. Here is an analysis of a familiar
object, each brace being made large enough for its
particular purpose :

f Roots \ For SUPP°rt-

OO LO< \ f i

For nourishment.

Tree. -<

Body.

" Dead bark.

J Live bark.

Sap-wood.

^ Heart-wood.

f Branch stems.
Limbs. < Leaf stems.

f Fruit stems.

The whole subject is thus shown in parts, and the
relation of each to each is seen at one glance.

The analysis of man’s nature is here made complete
for convenience, as it will be referred to in the pages
following. In explanation of the use of the braces it
should be said that, for instance, all the desires are
included by a brace after them which points to hope
and fear, because hope and fear are based wholly upoi?
man’s desires. Expectancy is inserted because it is
according to the certainty of attaining his desires that
he hopes or fears. So duty is presented following the
whole nature of man, as a natural result or outgrowth
of that entire nature. The large brace preceding the
word “ duty,” therefore embraces the entire structure
of man, while the analysis of duty follows again at the
right. (See the analysis.)

HERE is but one temple in the
world, and that is the body of man.
Bending before man is a reverence
done to this revelation in the flesh.
We touch heaven when we lay our
hand on a human body.

Man was the last and most wonderful
of all God’s creatures. From those
created before him, he differs very much
in degree, if not in kind. His is a
wonderful threeTfold nature — physical,
mental, and spiritual, each part distinct
and having its own special duties to per¬
form, yet all harmonious by working together, and
forming a magnificent whole', the crowning glory of the
universe. A full discussion of the physical nature does
not fall within the design of the present book, but it
is so intimately connected with the others that a few’
words regarding it are necessary.

A COMPLICATED MACHINE.

The human body is the most complicated machine

ever devised ; its intricacy is almost beyond belief,

26

A COMPLICATED MACHINE.

27

Many of its parts are so small as to be entirely invisi¬
ble to the naked eye. The pores of the skin are
extremely minute tubes, about one three-hundredth of
an inch in diameter, and about one fourth of an inch
in length. It is estimated that the number of pores
in the body is about seven millions ; this would make
nearly twenty-eight miles of tube employed in conduct¬
ing the sweat to the surface. On an occasion of
great solemnity, Pope Leo X. caused a young child to
be completely covered with gold-leaf, closely applied
to the skin, so as to represent, according to the idea
of the age, the golden glory of an angel or seraph. In
a few hours after contributing to the pageant of pride,
the child died ; the cause being simply that of stop¬
ping the exhalations of the skin. So important is even
the apparently insignificant process of perspiration.
There are other organs of the body whose functions the
physiologists of two thousand years have been unable,
to discover. Yet we may be assured that these parts,
minute and obscure as they are, have their appropriate
share of labor in the economy of the system, and that
they will perform this labor with perfect ease and accu¬
racy, so long as they are not crippled by the short¬
sighted abuse of their master, the man.

A brief analysis of the body, calling attention to*
some of the more prominent parts, and the wonderful
adaptations of means to ends, will follow. The first
thing that attracts our attention in looking at anything-

28

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

is its general shape, which is given it by its frame. The
framework of the body is the bones and the muscles
which play upon* them. No mechanical principle has
been discovered, by which the bones could have been
made stronger and better adapted to their purposes.
The long bones are hollow, because a tube of given
weight is stronger than a bar of the same weight.
They are larger at the ends than at the center, in order
that more space may be given for the attachment of
muscles and ligaments. They are spongy at the ends,
to prevent the enlargement from increasing the weight.
The skull is composed of several bones, instead of one.
Each of these are made of an outside and an inside
plate, with a porous layer between them. The bones
are united partially by dovetailing and partially by
smooth edges. All of which, combined with its shape,
reduces the danger of fracture to the least, gives room
for growth, and affords the greatest strength united
with the least weight. The spinal column is in the
form of a compound curve, because that form is best
adapted to deaden the force of shocks. If it were
straight, a very slight fall would produce concussion of
the brain. Moreover, the compound curve is the most
beautiful figure known to art. The column is com¬
posed of twenty-four bones, separated by layers of a
sp°ngy substance called cartilage, which arrangement
gives great freedom and elasticity of movement.

In the muscles we find the same marks of wisdom
as in the bones. Each muscle is exactly fitted to its
purpose. Some of those in the arms and fingers, for

THE FRAME.

29

example, where celerity of movement is of more impor¬
tance than power, are so arranged as to give the great¬
est possible speed to those members, while others in
the back and elsewhere are planned with reference
to strength, speed being a minor consideration. A
man can utter perhaps fifteen hundred letters in a
minute, the utterance of each letter requiring a con¬
traction and a relaxation of the same muscle, — making
a total of three thousand movements of one muscle in
the short space of a minute. The muscles are usually
attached to the bones by small cords called tendons,
and so firmly that the bone will break rather than the
tendon loosen from it.

JIutritive Apparatus.

But despite these wonderful adaptations, man’s body
would, like any other machine, wear out in a short time
if it were not continually being repaired and replen¬
ished. The body is constantly dying and being born.
A particle dies, is carried away, and its place is taken
by a live new particle, fresh from the human labora¬
tory. It is estimated that no particle which is in your
system to-day will be there seven years hence. Some
portions change much faster than that, as, for example,
the finger-nails, which are completely renewed two or
three times each year. This process of carrying off,
renewing, and rebuilding, is carried on by the organs
which are collectively known as the Nutritive Appa¬
ratus; of which there are three parts, — the Digestive

30

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

System, the Respiratory System, and the Circulatory
System.

THE DIGESTIVE SYSTEM.

The mouth takes the food the person has chosen,
and holds it in position for the teeth to cut and grind
it to a pulp. The salivary glands situated in the
cheeks and under the tongue ooze out a fluid to
moisten the mouth and mix with the food. Then the
pulpy mass disappears down the oesophagus (com¬
monly called gullet), the passage which leads to the
stomach. The stomach has a contracting motion which
turns the food about and mixes it with the gastric juice,
which is here supplied. Finally the now much changed
food passes out of the stomach into the intestines, and
at once mixes with the fluid furnished by the liver,
being again changed by this and minor juices. Then,
as the food passes slowly along, very small vessels
which • open upon the inner surface of the intestines
suck up the thoroughly digested food any carry it
along in little canals. These canals open into each
other and finally form one large canal which carries
the fluid thus gathered up from the digested food and
throws it into the large vein which carries it to the
heart. Thus the work of the Digestive System is com¬
pleted and the food to be used by the body is turned
over to the System of Circulation.

THE CIRCULATORY SYSTEM.

The heart receives the blood coming from the body
mixed with the fluid food coming from the Digestive

THE CIRCULATORY SYSTEM.

3*

System, and sends the mixture to the lungs, whence,
after important changes which will be explained in the
Respiratory System, the blood now rich and pure is
sent back to the heart. The blood is now sent out
through the arteries, which divide, and sub-divide and
carry it to all parts of the body. The arteries thus
grow smaller and smaller, dividing themselves again
and again, until every part of the body is supplied with
blood and the arteries end in minute vessels called cap¬
illaries. The blood may now be said to ooze through
the tissues, and it is here taken up by the veins which
do not differ very greatly from the arteries, except that
they run back toward the heart, increasing in size, and
finally uniting in one canal and emptying the blood
again into the heart.

As the blood makes this grand circuit each member
of the body takes up from it whatever it may need :
the bone one element, the muscle another, the skin
another, the nerve another, and so on to the end.
And its tour is not only one of distribution, but one of
collection as well, for it gathers up all the worn out
particles which are to be expelled in various ways.
The French have very nicely called this wondrous fluid
“fluent flesh ,” because, though liquid, it contains all the
principles which enter into the composition of the body.
So perfectly is the blood distributed, that you cannot
puncture your flesh anywhere with a needle, without
wounding one of the minute blood-vessels. Another

o

thing that shows the wisdom and skill with which the
body was contrived, is the fact that at least four

/

32 BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

mechanical principles are used in propelling the blood
through the arteries and veins, whereas in machines of
human invention, use is very rarely made of more than
one at a time. The first of these is the compression
of the heart, the working of which may easily be
seen by a very simple experiment. Take a hollow
rubber ball and fill it with water ; then compress it and
the water will, of course, fly out, because there is no
place for it in the ball. The second is the principle
which is known in physics as capillary attraction. It
is this that causes a whole towel to become wet in a
short time when one corner of it is dipped in water.
The third is the rushing in of the blood to fill up the
vacuum left in the heart when it is emptied after each
compression. This is the same law that draws the
water up in a suction pump. The fourth is the weight
of the blood, which, of course, aids the circulation only
in those parts of the body which are above the heart.

THE RESPIRATORY SYSTEM.

It was seen that the blood came back to one of the
four chambers of the heart from the various parts of
the body, loaded with impurities. It had yielded many
of its best elements to build up the body, and taken in
the worn-out and useless matter, and its quantity had
been increased by the fluid food thrown into it from
the Digestive System. Now this mixture is not fit
to go out to the body again at once. The load of
impurities must be thrown off and it must undergo an
important change. This change is effected by the

THE RESPIRATORY SYSTEM.

33

Respiratory (or breathing) System. The lungs receive
this mixture of impure blood and bring it into contact
with the air.

T he pure air we breathe is one fifth oxygen, and
this oxygen is the substance needed to purify the
blood. Partly through the mouth, but mainly through
the nose, the air is drawn ; and passing down through
the air-tubes (windpipe and its branches) it reaches all
parts of the lungs. Here the walls of the little air-
tubes and blood vessels are so thin that the impure
gases of the blood pass through and unite with the air,
while the oxygen passes into the blood, making it
bright, red, and healthy. This air, now loaded with
the impurities of the body is at once thrown out, and
fresh air taken in.

This is the business of the Respiratory System, and
it is plainly seen why pure air and free breathing are so
necessary to health and life. These operations in the
lungs are very rapid. The quantity of blood estimated
in the grown person is about twenty-eight pounds,
which performs its circulation in two minutes and a
half ; or, in other words, the circulating velocity of this
fluid is so great that any given amount, on leaving the
lungs, is distributed to impart heat, health, and activity
to the body, as well as to remove impurities, and in the
short space of two minutes and a half it returns again
to the lungs, laden with these impurities, having effect¬
ually accomplished its vital mission.

Thus the digestive, the circulatory, and the respira¬
tory systems, acting hand in hand, perform the work of

34

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

nutrition ; building up the body and keeping it supplied
with nourishment.

The Nervous System is not thoroughly understood,
for the reason that its work cannot be seen, heard,
tasted, or felt. It is 'quite beyond the reach of sense,
and can only be known by its effects. Accofding to
the theory which now prevails throughout the scientific
world, however, the nervous system is the organism
through which the mind acts ; it is the point of contact
between the material and the immaterial. Just how
the immaterial mind is enabled to work by means of
the material brain, spinal cord, and nerves, is some¬
thing no man knows. It is thought that the brain and
spinal cord are the seats of thought, sensation, and
motion, and that the nerves, which are of two kinds,
sensory and motory, carry communications between
these organs and other parts of the body. The nerves
are distributed to nearly all parts, the skin being espe¬
cially well supplied. The relative ease with which we
feel external objects in different parts of the body has
been determined by ascertaining the smallest distance
of separation at which the points of a pair of needles
could be felt as two. It is found that at the point
of the tongue this distance is about one twenty-fourth
part of an inch ; at the end of the third finger, one
twelfth of an inch ; on the lips, one sixth of an inch ;
end of the nose, one fourth of an inch ; the cheek,

NERVOUS SYSTEM.

35

the palm of the hand, and the end of the great toe,
five twelfths of an inch ; the knee and back of the foot,
one and a half inches.

The nerves of sense are supposed to communicate
the state of affairs at their extremities with the brain.
As, for instance, the accepted theory of sound is,
that the vibrations of the air, when it is set in motion
by any shock, strike the drum of the ear and produce
corresponding vibrations there,, which are in some mys¬
terious way carried to the brain by the auditory nerve.
In like manner, the optic nerve conveys the image of
any object reflected upon the retina of the eye to the
brain, and thus we see the object ; and the nerves of
touch, the sensations at their outer limits, and we say
the thing touched is rough or smooth, hot or cold.
The motories convey orders from the nerve centers
outward. The mind wills that the arm shall move, and
forthwith it moves. A man puts a berry into his
mouth. The nerves of taste detect a peculiar flavor,
and the berry is at once rejected through the opera¬
tions of the motories. The berry was rotten. This
is an example of the immediate instinctive action of
the nervous system. A more deliberate action of the
same organs is to be found in every voluntary deed
that we perform. The carpenter driving a nail is told
by his optic nerve the exact location of the nail, and
the motories carry orders to the arm to hit it ; and the
thing is done. The whole apparatus has been not
inaptly compared to the telegraph system of a railway
company. The nerve centers are the central office,

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

36

and the nerves are the wires stretching out in every
direction. The operator at the outer station sends in
his report of the condition of affairs, and receives in
return his instructions from the central office as to how
he shall act.

There are certain sets of nerves for certain branches
of this work. One of the most important of these
gives the life-force to all portions of the body. It is
called the sympathetic, and exerts a controlling influ¬
ence over the final processes of digestion, secretion,
circulation, and nutrition. Every portion of the body
is to a certain extent under its influence, as threads
from this system of nerves accompany the blood vessels
throughout their course. An important use of these
nerves is to form a direct line of communication between
all parts of the body, so that one organ can become
aware of the condition of every other organ, and act
accordingly. If, for example, disease or injury strikes
the brain, the stomach by its sympathetic connection
knows it ; and as nourishment would add to the disease,
it refuses to receive food, and perhaps vomits out what
has lately been taken. Loss of appetite in sickness is
thus in most cases a kind provision of nature to prevent
our taking food when it would be injurious.

Then there are other sets of nerves which aid in the
expression of all the passions, feelings, and emotions of
the mind. When a person is greatly frightened we
readily see the reason why he stands with his eyes
intently fixed on the object of his fears, the eyebrows
elevated and the eyeballs largely uncovered ; or why

NERVOUS SYSTEM.

37

his steps are hesitating1 and bewildered, and his eyes
rapidly and wildly searching something. These are the
plain outward signs of the intense attention of his mind
to the object of his fears ; and show the powerful influ¬
ence of this mental action. When we observe him
farther there is seen a spasm in his breast ; he cannot
breathe freely ; the chest remains elevated, and his
breathing is short and rapid ; there is a gasping and
convulsive motion of his lips, a tremor on his hollow
cheeks, a catching in his throat ; his heart knocks at
his ribs, but there is no force in the blood circulation,
for the lips and cheeks are ashy pale.

These nerves are the instruments of expression,
from the smile upon the infant’s cheek to the last agony
in death. It is when the strong man is subdued by
this mysterious influence of spirit on body, and when
the passions may be truly said to tear the heart, that
we have the most afflicting picture of human frailty, and
the most certain proof that it is the nerves we have
been considering, that are thus affected. In the first
struggle of the infant to draw breath, in the man recov¬
ering from a state of suffocation, and in the agony of
passion, when the breast labors from the influence at
the heart, the same set of parts is affected, the same
nerves, the same muscles, and the same outward actions
have a strict resemblance. How expressive is the face
of man ! How clearly it announces the thoughts and
sentiments of the mind ! How well depicted are the
passions on his countenance! Tumultuous rage, de¬
voted love, envy, hatred, grief, and every other emo-

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

38

tion, in all their shades and varieties, are imprinted
there, in characters so clear that he who runs may
read! How difficult, nay, how impossible, is it to hide
or falsify the expressions which indicate the internal
feelings ! Thus conscious guilt shrinks from detection,
innocence declares its confidence, and hope shines out
with bright expectation.

Remembering, then, that the brain and nerves are
the instruments of the thinking mind, and are also
wound in with every process of life in the body, we can
easily see the desirability of a well-balanced nervous
system in a well-developed body. The points of weak¬
ness in such persons as Louis XV. of France, and the
tremendous power and endurance of Napoleon Bona¬
parte, are evident. Neither is it difficult to understand
how sudden excitement of the mind affects the body,
causing great changes and sometimes death ; or how
continued grief may produce disease ; or how any line
of conduct of the person or his associates which con¬
tinually disquiets his mind will gradually undermine
the health. The old proverb, “ A clear conscience
giveth sound sleep,” has indeed a scientific basis, and
we cannot avoid seeing the vast importance of each
human being living such a life as will give a moral
feeling of satisfaction with himself and a hopeful trust
in the future.

Another fact must not be overlooked. These vari¬
ous parts of the nervous system grow in size and
strength with frequent use, or dwindle, or weaken with
idleness the same as any other part of the body. As

NERVOUS SYSTEM.

39

the blacksmith’s arm grows large and strong with
steady use, so these. The larger and stronger any
set of nerves may be, the more readily and easily will
the mind use that set of nerves. Children may thus
inherit from parents tendencies to certain bodily or
mental conditions or lines of conduct, and therein
is also shown the vital importance of a wise and life¬
long education and training of the mind and personal
habits.

The Organs of Special Sense.

There is no more striking evidence of thoughtful
skill in the body than is to be found in the organs
of the five special senses : sight, hearing, taste, touch,
and smell. There is no optical instrument known to
science which will accommodate itself so perfectly to
the varying demands made upon it as the eye. Its
intricate combinations of lenses, coats, nerves and
absorbents are so nicely adjusted that it sees equally
objects in the distance and those close at hand, furnish¬
ing to the mind a faithful and living picture of external
things. The ear, too, and the nose, the mouth, and
the skin, are all so contrived as to fulfill perfectly the
design of the Maker. Their workings are totally
beyond the range of our conceptions. How, for
instance, the mere vibrations of the air are transformed
into sound, is something of which we cannot even form
an idea. Yet it is so. “ More wonderful than any arch
that ever sprung,” says Talmage, “or any transept

40

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

window that ever illumed, or any Corinthian column
that ever crowned, or any Gothic cluster that ever
elaborated, is the human ear. Although the most
skillful and assiduous physiologists of the ages have
been busy in the study of its arches, its rotunda, its
floors, its canals, its aqueducts, its vibrations, its
convolutions, its intricacies, its resonance, it will take
another thousand years to find what God did when He
planned and executed the overmastering and infinite
architecture of the human ear. The most of it is invis¬
ible to the human eye, and the microscope breaks down
in its attempt at exploration. The cartilage which we
call the ear is only the storm-door of the temple away
down, hidden at the seat next door to the immortal
soul. With all styles of ear specula, or magnifying
glass, or reflector, scientists such as Helmholtz, and
Corti, and De Blainville, and Hemen, and Ranke, and
Buck have tried to walk the Appian way of the ear,
but only two feet have ever traversed the myterious
pathway — the foot of sound and the foot of God.
There is a muscle which, by contracting, defends the
ear against too loud noise, as the pupil of the eye
contracts against too great light. The outer ear is
defended by wax which, with its bitterness, discourages
insects from entrance. The inside ear is imbedded in
the hardest bone of the human system, a very rock of
strength and defiance. The organ is capable of catch¬
ing, according to one scientist, a sound of seventy-three
thousand seven hundred vibrations in a second. The
outside ear, open to catch all sounds, whether crash of

THE ORGANS OF SPECIAL SENSE.

41

avalanche or hum of bee, but the door at the other side
of the ear shut against all intrusion, and henceforth
communication must go in only by divine machinery.
The sound admitted to the middle ear finds the door of
that second apartment closed, and can only advance by
divine mechanism. Having passed into the third ear
and swum the liquid, it takes the fine rail track of
brain, branches, and passes on into sensation, and there
the curtain drops and the gates come shut, and the
voice of God seems to say to all human inspection :
"Thus far and no farther.’ In this vestibule of the
soul’s palace how many kings of medicine and physi¬
ology have stood doing penance of study for a lifetime,
and never got farther than the outward door of the
vestibule ! Mysterious home of reverberation and
echo ! ”

If the delicate nerves of touch were exposed to
immediate contact with the objects of the external
world, we should be seriously inconvenienced by the
pain that would follow almost every movement. To
prevent this, and also to lessen the danger of disease
from the absorption of poisonous substances, the body
is covered with a tough membrane called cuticle — a
layer of the skin. So also the principal office of the
nails and the hair is to protect the organs beneath
from various external influences which might work
them harm. But here again, as always, several pur-

42

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

poses are subserved by these organs. For instance,
the nails, besides protecting the parts beneath and
adding to the beauty of the hand, add greatly to the
efficiency of the fingers in all operations requiring
delicacy and fineness.

We may now present a complete analysis of man’s
bodily nature, as it has been here examined, showing
at once all the parts and their relation to each other.

r

Frame-work . . .

' Mouth.
Teeth.

Digestive Salivary Glands.

System. (Esophagus.

Stomach.
Liver.
w Intestines.

Nutritive

Heart.

Arteries.

Capillaries.

Veins.

Apparatus, j Circulatory

1

System. s

Bodily
Nature. 1

Air Tubes.
Lungs.

Nervous

Motion.

Sensation.

Organs of the Ear.

Five Senses. Skin.

I Mouth,
f Nose.

Protective

Organs. ;.

OBSERVATIONS.

43

Observations.

The body is the foundation of the mind ; and if the
foundation be badly placed or poorly built, or if origi¬
nally good, it be allowed to deteriorate and become
unsound, how can the house be a roomy, beautiful and
safe structure ? The house itself may indeed be well
constructed, but it will always be upon the verge of a
ruinous fall. The writer not long since saw, in a cer¬
tain western city, a fine large mansion standing upon
the top of a steep bluff. No one dared to use it, for
the earth had crumbled away from its foundations. A
large danger-signal was posted near it, and it stood
there a suggestive picture of a man tottering to a
physical wreck.

EFFECT OF A DISEASED BODY.

A sound mind in a diseased body is an anomaly,
Sound intellect, sound physique, sound conscience —
these three go hand in hand. The proper cultivation
of each improves the other two. An unhealthy person
is almost sure to be a peevish, childish one, worrying
over every little obstacle that obstructs his pathway.
It is almost impossible for such a one to perform
bright, wholesome mental labor.

HEALTH.

“ Life is not to live, but to be well,” says the Latin
poet Martial. “O blessed health!” exclaims Lawrence
Sterne ; “ thou art above all gold and treasure ; ’tis thou

44 BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

who enlargest the soul, and openest all its powers to
receive instruction and to relish virtue. He that hath
thee hath little more to wish for ! and he that is so
wretched as to want thee, wants everything with thee.”
To the same purpose is the Arabian proverb: “He
who has health has hope, and he who has hope has
everything.” How often we hear successful, but hard-
worked, business men in our large cities declare that
they would be willing to give up all their riches, if by
so doing they could only regain the health they
enjoyed as boys upon a farm.

EFFECT OF PHYSICAL CULTIVATION.

If every man, woman and child who may chance to
read these words could be persuaded to resolutely and
persistently cultivate and care for his three selves,
bodily, as well as mental and spiritual, using all, but
abusing none, certainly at the end of a year he would
feel himself to be a very much better, stronger, and
more capable person. Nearly all of the men whose
names are handed down to us as the leaders of their
various times have carefully watched over the condi¬
tion of their bodies. Napoleon was an excellent
sleeper, and he gave orders that he should never be
disturbed at night by any good news, because it would
interrupt his sleep and do much damage to himself and
his management of the army. Longfellow took regular
exercise, and when he died at the age of seventy-five
years, he was as straight and vigorous as many a man
twenty years his junior. It is said that one of the most

EFFECT OF PHYSICAL CULTIVATION.

45

distinguished of our former presidents was accustomed
to rise early in the morning and bathe in the Potomac
before other people were out of bed. Goethe died
when nearly eighty-three years old, a hale, hearty man,
without “a trace of fat, or emaciation, or decay,”
although he did more and better work than almost any
other man of his century : all of which is to be attrib¬
uted principally to the excellent care he took of
himself. He himself credited his great capacity for
work to his equally great capacity for sleep.

STRENGTH.

A few examples of the wonderful power which the
body attains when fully trained and developed, may
not be uninteresting. Probably the most remarkable
athlete the world ever saw, was the celebrated Greek,
Milo. His great strength was gained by accustoming
himself when young to bear burdens, gradually increas¬
ing their weight until he was able to sustain an enor¬
mous load. He was crowned victor at the Pythian
games seven time, and at the Olympic six times, and
only ceased to present himself when nobody would
enter into a contest with him. The following are some
of the feats he is said to have performed. “ He could
hold a pomegranate in his hand, with his fingers closed
over it, and yet, without either crushing or even press¬
ing on the fruit, could keep his fingers so firmly bent as
to render it impossible for any one to take the fruit
from him. * * * He could encircle his brow with a

cord, and break this asunder by holding his breath and

46

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

causing- the veins of his head to distend. He could
hold his right arm behind his back, with the hand open
and the thumb raised, and a man could not then
separate his little finger from the rest. The account
that is given of his voracity is almost incredible. He
ate, it is said, every day, twenty pounds of animal food,
twenty pounds of bread, and drank fifteen pints of
wine. * * * One day, while attending the lectures

of Pythagoras, of whom he was a disciple and constant
hearer, the column which supported the ceiling of the
hall where they were assembled wms observed to totter,
whereupon Milo, upholding the entire superstructure
by his own strength, allowed all present an opportunity
of escaping, and then saved himself. * * * His

death was a melancholy one. He was already well
advanced in years, when, traversing a forest, he found
a trunk of a tree partly cleft by wedges. Wishing to
sever it entirely, he introduced his hands into the
opening, and succeeded so far as to cause the wedges
to fall out ; but his strength here failing him, the
separated parts on a sudden reunited, and his hands
remained imprisoned in the cleft. In this situation he
was devoured by wild beasts.” Ancient history and
fable have furnished several other well-known examples
of bodily strength, among them : Samson, the strong
man of the bible ; Hercules and Achilles, the heroes of
Greek poetry, and that sturdy old Roman, Horatius
Codes who, with two companions, defended the bridge
against a hostile army, until his comrades on the other
side could hew it down, and then, severely wounded,

STRENGTH.

47

leaped into the river with all his heavy armor on and
swam safely to the opposite bank. All are familiar
with the astonishing feats of modern gymnasts, men
who perform all imaginable evolutions upon the trapeze
and horizontal bar, toss cannon-balls about with appar¬
ently as much ease as if they weighed but a few
ounces, put up hundred-pound dumb-bells as high as
they can stretch their arms, and similar feats almost
without limit.

These examples show what can be accomplished
by patient exercise, under favorable circumstances. Of
course, all could not attain to so great a degree of
physical power, because all have not the natural
strength of constitution ; nor, perhaps, would it be
desirable, even if it were possible. But surely it is
desirable for all,, and possible for nearly everyone, to
cultivate his body to such an extent that it will be
equal to all reasonable demands he may make upon it.
With that sure basis to stand upon, the mind may
hopefully venture upon the longest and most difficult
tasks.

CONCLUSION.

Much has been said and written of the expressive¬
ness and dignity of man’s bodily form and carriage.
Let us imagine a human figure as if now standing
before us, like the statue of the Apollo, sculptured by
the intellectual Greeks, representing him as gazing on
the smitten Python. We seem to see in this statue
the image of a man who aspired to be godlike. At

43

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

length he stands triumphant over the temptation and
the tempter, content in the feeling of a renewed and
perfect humanity.

Passion and intellect are blended in calm unison;
knowledge and affection are at peace ; the attributes
of feeling, thought, and action, are combined in one
attitude, expressive of the delicate yet mighty strength
of a living spirit. The mind reigns in that body by
the force of his will, and appears as if conscious of being
always resisted yet never vanquished ; but, inspired by
a knowledge of his right as a prince of almightiness,
he subdues resistance and surmounts difficulties by
perseverance in the use of that strength which increases
continually with every new victory. Such is man when
sustained by the divinity which stirs within him ; the
only creature on which the Creator has bestowed divine
endowments.

Even if we regard man in his most uncultivated
condition, where the intellect is left to the freedom of
the elements, and educated only by the forces of corpo¬
real necessity, we yet shall see much indication of his
dignity. The wild barbarian awakes to action, and
every movement speaks of thought. He is evidently
influenced by a world within him, where reflection and
anticipation present incessant business for his spirit,
and he will not live in the solitude of his own precep-
tions, but he seeks the higher pleasure of sociality and
fellowship. His ideal existence is as actual as that of
his body, and crowded with emotions. Memory and
imagination people a world of their own, in the busy

CONCLUSION.

49

scenes of which he dwells more thoroughly and inti¬
mately than in that which is present to his outward
senses. And he reveals his inner life by living lan¬
guage. He talks of what he feels, not only in words,
but also in the lineaments of his face, and while he
speaks he stretches out his hand toward some object
which may illustrate his words, or interest his com¬
panion, and thus by the very act of pointing, at once
declares himself superior in endowment to every
earthly creature, except his fellow-man ; for no other
holds rational discourse, or even possesses that simple
adjunct to human intelligence, the power of distinctly
and designedly pointing, to direct the attention of
another. We say then that the existence of a resident
and superintending mind, a thinking principle, an
intelligent spirit operating upon the body, in it, not of
it, might be inferred from the external form alone ; and
the manner of every movement and expression of that
form proves how perfectly it was adapted for the use
of a guiding and dominant spirit, pervading, informing
and employing it.

What is it that so skillfully touches this instrument ?
What is it that enjoys as well as actuates, receives as
well as communicates, through this inscrutable organ¬
ization ? It is the soul, or spirit, without which this
body were more unmeaning than a statue, and only fit
for the decay to which it would tend. It is the spirit
which animates the features, and causes them to pre¬
sent a living picture of each passion, so that the inmost
agitations of the heart become visible in a moment, and
4

50

BODILY NATURE OF MAN.

the wish that would seek concealment betrays its pres¬
ence and power in the vivid eye, while the blood kindles
into crimson along the brow. It is this which diffuses
a sweet serenity and rests upon the visage when our
feelings are tranquilized, and our thoughts abide with
heaven, like ocean in a calm, reflecting the peaceful
glories of the cloudless skies. This indwelling spirit of
power blends our features into unison and' harmony,
and awakes “the music breathing from the face,” when
in association with those we love, and heart answering
to heart, we live in sympathy, while memory and hope
repose alike in smiles upon the bosom of enjoyment.
It is a flame from heaven, purer than Promethean fire,
that vivifies and energizes the breathing form. It is
an immaterial essence, a being that quickens matter
and imparts life, sensation, motion, to the intricate
framework of our bodies ; which wills when we act,
attends when we perceive, looks into the past when we
reflect, and not content with the present, leaps with
all its aims and all its hopes into the futurity that is
forever dawning upon it.

GENERAL ji.N.flLYSIS OF THE

IMPORTANCE OF MENTAL SCIENCE.

HE importance of mental science,
says Mr. Haven, appears from its
relation to other sciences : we find
in nature a gradually ascending
series. As we pass from the ob¬
servation and study of the mineral to
the forms of vegetable life, from the
plant to the insect — and thence to the
animal, in his various orders and classes,
up to man, the highest type of animated
existence on the earth, we are conscious
of a progression in the rank and dignity
of that which we contemplate. But it is
only when we turn our attention from all these to the
intelligence that dwells within the man, and makes him
master and lord of this lower world, that we stand upon
the summit of elevation and overlook the wide field of
previous inquiry. Toward this all other sciences lead,

as paths along the mountain side, starting at different

51

52

GENERAL ANALYSIS OF THE MIND.

points and running in different directions, converge
toward a common terminus at the summit. The min¬
eral, the plant, the insect, the animal, in all their curi¬
ous and wonderful organizations, are necessarily inferior
to man ; and the science of them, however important
and useful, is subordinate to the science of man him¬
self. So the human body, curious and wonderful in
its organism and its laws, is nevertheless inferior in
dignity and worth to the spirit that rules the body, and
is the true lord of this fair castle and this wide and
beautiful domain ; and the science of the body, its
mechanism, its chemistry, its anatomy, its laws, is
inferior to the science of the mind, the divinity that
dwells within.

PRESENT PURPOSE.

It shall be our endeavor to treat of the science of
mind in such a way that even the untrained intellect
can find no difficulty in comprehending the meaning.
It is believed that this is within the range of possibili¬
ties, and that the technical wording usually employed
in books upon the subject may be easily simplified at
least in all the practical and important divisions of
mental science.

THEORIES.

The thousand theories that have been advanced by
thinkers from the earliest times to the present, how¬
ever interesting to scholars, are of little practical
importance to the common reader seeking information
concerning himself and his mental nature. When the

THEORIES.

53

cabinet-maker takes up a piece of wood, he does not
speculate upon the atoms which may or may not com¬
pose it, or upon the origin of it and the reason of its
existence, or upon what will become of it when it shall
have passed out of its present state. All he cares
particularly to know is, that the wood is hard, that it
is straight-grained and can be easily worked up, that it
is susceptible of a high polish, and can be utilized in
making a useful and ornamental piece of furniture for
some one’s parlor. He wants to know the attributes
of it, and not its ultimate nature (a thing which nobody
knows). So in regard to himself, the inquiring person
wants to know that he has will-power, reason, memory,
that there is something in him which is impressed by
whatever is beautiful or sublime, that there is another
something in his nature which takes cognizance of the
good and the bad. And finally, it is of the utmost
importance that he should know of what utility these
manifold faculties and capabilities are : that he should
know how to use and improve them, and to raise him¬
self higher in the scale of being by means of them.

DIFFICULTY.

Owing to the invisibleness of mental actions, they
are much more difficult to comprehend and classify,
than those of the several physical sciences, where most
things are open to examination by means of the five
senses. Still, a little thought will enable us to divide
all mental processes into three great divisions. The
subdivisions will not always be quite so easy.

54

GENERAL ANALYSIS OF THE MIND.

*1he Analysis.

Suppose I am listening to a public speaker. I hear
him, I comprehend the thoughts to which he gives
utterance, I judge of their truth or falsity; these
thoughts excite other thoughts in me ; I reflect upon
what he is saying. All these are acts of the Intellect.
But they are not the only acts of which I am con¬
scious. The speaker is eloquent ; in glowing terms he
denounces a certain line of conduct, and holds another
up to admiration ; I am moved, as we say, or affected,
by what he says ; I grow excited, my blood runs faster,
and my whole being feels the exhilarating effect of the
speaker’s eloquence. This is feeling, and the general
faculty of the mind in which it originates, is called Sen¬
sibility. Nor is this yet all. Spurred on by what the
orator has said, or better, by the feelings he has
excited, I resolve to do certain things, to pursue a
certain course. The power which thus enables me to
resolve is called the Will. It will be found upon
reflection, that all the manifold kinds of mental activity
of which we are capable may be reduced to one or
another of these three general classes : i. Those of
the Intellect. 2. Those of the Sensibility. 3. Those
of the Will.

ANOTHER CLASSIFICATION.

This is what is known in metaphysics as a subjective
classification. There is another, corresponding to it,
called an objective. It divides the qualities belonging

ANOTHER CLASSIFICATION.

55

to objects which call forth the activity of the mind into
three classes : The true , the beautiful. , and the good.
Intellect deals with the truth or falsity of objects; Sen¬
sibility, with their beauty or ugliness; and Will with
their goodness or badness. For our purpose the
former classification is best suited, and our first divis¬
ions of the Mind are now presented. The small brace
standing at the end of a word, as is seen in this
analysis, is used to show that the subject so indicated
is to be still further analyzed, or subdivided, in the
pages following :

rThe Intellect. -j — .

The Mind, or
Mental Nature.

i

The Sensibilities. -j — .

The Will.]—.

These three divisions will each receive separate
attention.

i

I

f he Intellect.

fc

v /

FIRST QUESTIONS.

EFORE we proceed to discuss the
distinct faculties of the intellect,
there are a few other matters which
demand our attention. They are
Consciousness, Attention, and the
Continuousness of Mind’s Activity.

CONSCIOUSNESS.

Whether or not we are conscious of every¬
thing that passes within our minds is the
subject of a dispute among the philosophers,
there being celebrated men ranged on either
side of the controversy. Those who claim
that we are not always conscious of what is
passing in our minds, base their arguments on cases
like the following. A man will walk, avoiding all
obstructions, making all necessary turns, etc., and at
the same time be talking, reading, or meditating upon

some subject, and apparently paying no attention to

56

CONSCIOUSNESS.

57

the act of walking. A skillful piano-player will with no
seeming thought play a piece, even a piece of some
difficulty, and at the same time keep up a running
conversation with persons in the room. One case is
mentioned, of a young lady who performed before
her tutor a long and very difficult piece with perfect
accuracy, but seemed very much agitated during the
whole performance, and at its close burst into tears.
She had been absorbed all along in the death-agonies
of a favorite canary bird. A short-hand reporter in the
English House of Lords had been engaged for several
hours in taking the depositions of the witnesses in an
important case, when finally, overcome by weariness, he
sank for a few moments into a state of unconsciousness,
yet continued to take the report of the words as they
were spoken. When he read his report over he had
no recollection of the lines written during this time,
though they were written as legibly and accurately
as any other portion. It frequently occurs, that when
a person is reading, perhaps aloud, his attention is
attracted by some particular thought and he will follow
up this new train of ideas, and yet be reading with
perfect accuracy and distinctness all the while. And
coming back to his book, he finds that he has lost all
connection, and that a space of several lines or pages is
to him as if he had never read it. Sometimes even, a
person falls asleep reading, and passes through the
same experience. An English mail-carrier, a portion
of whose journey lay through a meadow, was accus¬
tomed to travel this distance asleep, but invariably

58

THE INTELLECT.

awoke when approaching a certain foot-bridge. It is
well known that upon long marches, foot-soldiers fre¬
quently sleep and still keep their places in the ranks,
and cavalry-men often sleep in their saddles.

These points are answered by those who believe in
the uniform self-consciousness of mind, as follows: i.
Such actions as walking, reading aloud and playing
on a musical instrument, become after sufficient prac¬
tice, almost, if not wholly, automatic ; that is, they, as
it were, perform themselves. The mind has nothing
to do with them more than simply to start and stop
them. It is said that Franz Liszt, the great pianist, sits
down daily at his instrument, and for several hours
practices the scales, at the same time reading from a
book placed upon the music rack before him. He
claims that the fingering has by long practice become
entirely automatic, and does not require any attention
at all. I will, say they, to go to my dinner ; the mind
starts the body. I pass along the crowded street,
turning aside and avoiding people, climbing steps, or
whatever else may be necessary, taking no especial
thought about the matter, unless something unusual
should transpire, until I reach my destination. My
body moves itself by force of habit, much as a wheel,
when put in motion, will revolve for a while without
the application of any more power to it. 2. The
fact that the short-hand reporter could not afterward
recollect what had transpired during the period of
so-called unconsciousness, does not necessarily indicate
that he really had no consciousness of the events at

CONSCIOUSNESS.

59

the time. The fault is in the memory, rather than in
the consciousness. The acts performed in taking the
report, if, indeed, they were not quite automatic, were
nearly enough so that they made but a very faint
impression upon the weary brain, so faint that they
could not afterward be recollected. These are the
arguments pro and con ; as to which is the true opin¬
ion, it is, perhaps, safest to conclude that self-conscious¬
ness never entirely ceases.

\

ATTENTION.

The word attention signifies the power which the
mind has of voluntarily giving heed to some particular

object, to the exclusion of others. It is also used with

\

the same meaning as “heed” in the last sentence. It
is one of the most important functions of the Will, but
must be briefly mentioned here, as it enters into so
many of the mind’s working powers. Its operations
are so well known that they scarcely need illustration.
One or two examples of its effects, however, will be
given. I walk along the street and meet hundreds of
people. I pay no attention to them, and I should not
recognize one of them if I were to see him three min¬
utes later. Suddenly my attention is attracted in some
way to a person I am about to meet. I notice him,
scan his form and features. I shall know that man
wherever and whenever I may see him in the future.
Two men sit in the reading-room of a large public
library, reading : The one has cultivated his power
of attention, the other has not. The former reads

6o

THE INTELLECT.

steadily, heeding not his surroundings ; presently he
gets through with his book or article and knows all
that is in it. The latter spends half the time in lookr
ing around the room to see what other people are
doing, and gains no profit whatever from his reading.

It will be seen that the power of attention is the
very basis of all sound intellectual character. It, more
than any other one thing, distinguishes the thorough,
cultivated student from the listless, careless reader who
knows not what he reads. It is what gives the general,
amid all the distraction and confusion of a great battle,
the power to sit quietly upon his horse and dictate
dispatches and orders so carefully worded that they
cannot be mistaken. How important this is, is evb
denced by the various battles which have been lost,
or where great and needless slaughter has taken place,
merely because an order has been misunderstood by
somebody. It is what enables the business man, sur¬
rounded by the bustle of factory, store, or office, to
write clear-headed letters, or mature his plans for future
action. Without this power there is little hope for
success in any sphere of life. A man must be able to
think coolly and accurately, surrounded by all manner
of distracting circumstances, if he would rise to higher
planes of existence — nay, if he would even maintain
his present condition.

CONTINUOUSNESS OF THE MIND’S ACTIVITY.

Does the mind ever absolutely cease working ? It
is an interesting question, and one often asked. It has,

CONTINUOUSNESS OF THE MIND’S ACTIVITY. 6 1

of course, its seasons of great exertion, and its seasons
of comparative inactivity ; but, that it ever gives itself
entirely up to rest, is scarcely to be believed. Doubt¬
less it is in sleep that it makes its nearest approach to
* absolute rest, but there are many facts which go to
prove that even then its quiet is not perfect. -The only
reason we have for supposing our brains to be inactive
during sleep, is that we cannot generally recall our
thoughts after we waken. But does that furnish any
substantial grounds for such a conclusion ? Is it not
often impossible for us to remember what we have
been thinking about an hour or two before? We
know that we have been occupied with a delicious
reverie, have been actively thinking all the time, and
thousands of ideas have thronged the chambers of our
brains. But what were those ideas ? What was the
nature of that reverie? We cannot remember; it has
all slipped away from our grasp. Our inability to
remember is then no proof that we have not thought.
What positive proof is there that we have thought ?
All the phenomena of dreams are evidence to that
effect. We often know after wakening that we have
dreamed, and can recall the substance of them. Often
we are conscious of having dreamt, but upon what
subject we do not know. And again, sometimes we
are unable to recollect dreaming at all, though it is
known to others that we have had the most violent
of nightmares. Somnambulists, or sleep-walkers, are
rarely able to remember that they have been out of
bed, or had anything but the most peaceful sleep ; and

62

THE INTELLECT.

yet they may have climbed to the roofs of houses and
walked in the most dangerous places, or they may
have fought duels, or solved problems, or written
speeches, or painted pictures, during their sleep.
Again, you may tickle or otherwise disturb a sleep¬
ing perso-n and he will probably move, and even
groan and mutter something, showing that his mind
is cognizant of what is going on. Yet he will not
waken, and when he does awake of his own accord,
he will not have the faintest recollection of what has
occurred. From all these facts we conclude that the
mind is never entirely at rest, but toils or sports
ceaselessly from birth till death.

Analysis of the Intellect.

S we shall deal with the Intellect first, it will
be well to subdivide its powers at this point.
Conditional to all mental activity are certain
things which are classed together under the
head of Intuition, because they are native,
intuitive — not derived from observation or
reflection. Such, for example, is the confi¬
dence which we have in the testimony of our
five senses. If a man did not believe that
things were as he saw them, his mind could
not act upon the things seen. Or, again, if he
had no confidence in his mental operations, of
what value would all his thinking be to him ?
He could base no practical actions upon it.

It would be of no use to toil for the acqui¬
sition of knowledge, for he never could be sure that his
memory was not playing him false. There is also
man’s natural confidence in the fact that he exists, and
several other primary qualities of mind going to make
up Intuition, which will be the first element (see dia¬
gram, page 65) of the Intellect treated.

There are things about us in the external world —

hills, streams, woods, houses, birds, flowers, trees, all

sorts of things. Of the presence of all these we

63

64

ANALYSIS OF THE INTELLECT.

become aware by seeing, hearing, touching, tasting or
smelling them. This, then, is the first power of the
Intellect; we will call it the power of Presentation,
because it presents to the notice of the mind every¬
thing external that comes to it at all.

A thing which has once been before the mind in any
way is remembered, and can frequently be recalled at
pleasure, can be recollected, can be represented to the
mind. But not only can actual existing things of which
the mind has at some time been cognizant be thus
represented, but we may also represent to ourselves
ideal things and scenes which never had existence.
For example, I may imagine that I see before me a
form of the most radiant loveliness, the like of which
I never saw. This power of representing to ourselves
things which are absent is called Representation. This
power of re-presenting actual things to the mind is
memory ; that of ideal (imaginary) things is imagina¬
tion. The study of these branches of Representation,

i

however, belongs in future pages.

Again, we have the power of thinking over the
objects presented or represented to the mind, reflect¬
ing upon them, analyzing them, classifying them,
comparing them, and deducing conclusions from the
relations which they sustain to one another. This
faculty we will call the power of Reflection.

The four faculties just described, namely, Intuition,
Presentation, Representation, Reflection, constitute the
intellectual powers of man. It takes both Sensibilities -
(heart-feelings) and Will to make up the complete

ANALYSIS OF THE INTELLECT.

65

mind, but by intellectual powers is meant the knowing,
thinking, reasoning powers of the mind. To see, to
know, to judge, these are the things to be done by the
powers of Intuition, Presentation, Representation and
Reflection.

Result of the foregoing examinations, expressed in
tabular form :

Power of Intuition, j — .

Intellect. <

Power of Presentation. -j — .

Power of Representation.

Memory, j — .
Imagination

^ Power of Reflection. -j — .

The other two divisions of man’s mental nature,
Sensibilities and Will, will be examined in their order.
In the subdivisions of some of these we will tread
upon ground that is full of by-paths disputed by per¬
sons whose beliefs vary all the way from nihilism (a
belief in no thing as certain) and materialism to those
who hold what religious people call strict orthodox
views. Nothing could be farther from our purpose
than to enter upon these paths, and it must also be
remembered by the reader at all times that, as has
been said in the earlier pages of the work, it is not
intended to enter into minute philosophical discussions.
The aim of these studies is to present a method as
thorough and complete as the best researches will

afford, but at the same time simple enough to be
5

66

ANALYSIS OF THE INTELLECT.

practical for common use by even uneducated per¬
sons. A very large majority of American readers
have not had the privileges of a college training, yet
their lives are just as precious, and they are as deeply
interested in their own personal welfare as any one.
Indeed, they represent the mass of the people, the
real force of the world, and it is for these earnest
seekers after a fuller knowledge of their own natural
powers and elements of character that this book is
intended.

A complete analysis of the Intellect is presented
here.

v

rIntuitive

Power. “

' First Truths. -

Personal Existence.

Confidence in our Senses.
Confidence in our Mental Processes.
Personal Identity.

Adequate Causes.

Uniformity of Nature.

Intuitive

Conceptions.

E-

CJ

fd

.J

W

H

£

Presentative

Power.

' Sight.
Hearing.
- Touch.
Taste.

. Smell.

Representative

Power.

^.Reflective

Power.

Memory .

Imagination.

Classification.
Reasoning. . . .

' Space.

Time.

■ Identity.

Idea of the Beautiful and Sublime.
. Idea of Right and Wrong.

' Primary.

' Memory Proper.

- Recollection, or
„ Laws of Association.

Deductive.
. Probab e.

. Secondary.
Inductive.

From Analogy.

' Resemblance.
Contrast.

- Nearness of
Time or Place.

. Cause and Effect.

Attention.
Lapse of Time.
Constitutional
Differences.
Professional
Differences.
. Repetition.

Intuition.

E derive most of our conceptions, and most oi
our knowledge of facts and principles, from
observation and subsequent thought. The
five senses are, as will be shown, the avenues
through which far the greater part of what
we know comes to us, directly or indirectly.
Still, there are some truths or principles
which lie below all thought and observa¬
tion, without which no process of reasoning
could be constructed. The existence of some of these
truths has been denied by a few authorities, and their
origin has been disputed over by others. They have,
however, been very generally admitted to be true, and
have been credited to Intuition (see analysis, page 73)
as their source. That is, they have been regarded as
native to us, born with us, and not dependent upon
thought, experience, or anything else. Some of the
tests by which these first truths, as they are called, may
be distinguished from other truths, are these : they
are universally believed and acted upon by sane people ;
they can be neither proved nor disproved by processes
of reason, for there is nothing ntore manifestly true
than themselves ; even those who deny them in
theory, act upon them in practice ; the opposites of

67

68

INTUITION.

them are absurd. They appear early in life, before the
cultivation of the reason. “We comprehend that the
thing is, but not how or why it is.”

PERSONAL EXISTENCE.

When we see anything, we are aware, not only of
the object, but also of ourselves as seeing it. If we
touch a desk with our fingers, we not only feel the
desk, but we feel also that we have fingers which
touched it. When we remember a fact in history, we
are conscious of a mind which does the remembering,
as well as of the fact remembered. Thus we know
that we do really exist and have minds and bodies, and
no amount of sophistical reasoning can convince us
to the contrary.

CONFIDENCE IN OUR SENSES.

There was once widely prevalent among philoso¬
phers the doctrine that nothing but mind exists ; that
the tree which affords me protection against the burn¬
ing rays of the sun, the house in which I live, the sky
and stars above me, the earth upon which I tread, nay,
my own body even, are illusions ; that they have no
real existence, but are only conceptions of the mind.
Surely no sensible man ever believed such a ridiculous
doctrine — practically believed it, I mean. Else why
did these very philosophers write books on non-exist¬
ent paper for non-existent eyes belonging to non-exist¬
ent people, to read ? Why did they take in pay for
the books imaginary money, wherewith they might buy

CONFIDENCE IN OUR SENSES.

69

imaginary clothes to cover imaginary bodies, or imagi¬
nary food to feed those same bodies which were not ?
Why does a man who has no existence love his child,
which also does not exist? No; we do exist, and the
trees, and the earth, and the ocean, and sky, and all
the other material things we see about us also exist,
although we cannot prove it, except by the evidence of
the senses. It is a fundamental fact, then, than which
nothing is truer, that our senses, sight, hearing, touch,
etc., are reliable and must be depended upon.

CONFIDENCE IN OUR MENTAL PROCESSES.

Another of these primary truths is that our mental
processes are reliable. If, for example, I remember a
thing as having taken place, I have all confidence that
it did take place just as remembered. If certain data
are given, and from them I draw a conclusion, I must
believe that conclusion to be involved in the data. It
is very difficult, and rightly so, to convince any one
that the actions of his mind have in any way been
incorrect.

PERSONAL IDENTITY.

It is estimated that the body is entirely renewed
once in about seven years, and along with other parts
of the body, the brain changes. Still, there is a mys¬
terious something, which, in spite of these changes,
preserves our identity. It would do no one any good
to tell us that we are not the same persons that we
were ten years ago, for notwithstanding all arguments.

70

INTELLECT.

however cogently reasoned, and notwithstanding all
these visible external changes, we feel and know that
we are still the same. If a man injured me ten years
ago, and I desired revenge, I should hardly be deterred
from taking revenge by the consideration that no
particle of what was his body at that time now existed
in the same form, and that my own system had under¬
gone similiar changes. I should probably act at once
upon my conviction that he and I were both the same
individuals that we were at the time the injury was
committed. It is in accordance with the same principle
that we make preparations for the future ; but for this,
there would be no need of such things as prudence and
foresight I believe that I am the same identical
person, today, tomorrow, always.

ADEQUATE CAUSES.

It is a principle of universal application that every
effect must have had a cause, and that every cause will
have an effect. The things in this world are linked
together in great chains, of which each individual link is
both a cause and an effect, and is connected on the one
hand with its own cause, and on the other with its own
effect. Therefore, whenever we see anything, or learn
of any event, we immediately conclude that it must
have had a cause, and furthermore, that it must have
had an adequate cause. To use the words of another,
“We infer the skill of one workman from works indi-
eating skill, and the vigor of another from works indi¬
cating strength. We infer from every work, not only

ADEQUATE CAUSES.

7 1

a cause, but a cause which, in both degree and kind, is
exactly proportioned to the effect produced. From a
chronometer which varies only a second in a year, we
infer exquisite skill in the artist ; and from the con¬
struction of the pyramids of Egypt, the united strength
of a multitude of men. We never supposed for a
moment that the minute skill of the artist raised the
pyramid, or that the united force of the multitude con¬
structed the chronometer ; still less, that these monu¬
ments of art started into their present condition with¬
out a cause. We infer with absolute certainty in both
cases an adequate cause ; that is, a cause distinguished
in the one case by design and mechanical power, in the
other, by design, adaptation and exquisite skill.”

UNIFORMITY OF NATURE.

We feel absolutely sure that Nature is uniform in
all that she does. Like causes, under like circum¬
stances, always produce like effects. Having learned
that alcohol has certain properties, as, for example,
that it is a preservative, and that it will intoxicate,
whenever I see a fluid which from its general appear¬
ance I know to be alcohol, I conclude at once, without
experimenting with it, that this fluid has all the proper¬
ties which I have before discovered to belong to alco¬
hol. Knowing that in past years January has been cold
and July hot, I feel perfectly justified in predicting that
next year, and the year after, January will be cold and
July will be hot. It is from his belief in this princi¬
ple that the farmer throws good seed into the ground —

72

INTELLECT.

an apparent waste. Relying upon this principle the
carpenter drives nails into wood, the smith heats two
pieces of iron and hammers them together, the mason
lays one stone upon another, the sailor trusts his life
to his vessel. In fact, our every action is based in
greater or less degree upon this principle, that the
actions of nature are uniform.

When we take into view a large scope, many things
which ordinarily seem to us to be entirely accidental
and unregulated, are seen to be uniform and regular.
We have no means of calculating the age at which a
certain person will die ; yet we can tell the average age
at which a thousand persons will die very accurately. It
has even been shown that the number of suicides can
be very closely approximated, as the rate of suicides is
quite uniform. It is impossible to foresee how many of
the children of a certain family will be males and how
many females ; yet in a large population, as that of a
city, the proportion of males and females varies but
little, being the same from generation to generation.
If a man is known to have been always strictly honest,
the chances are a hundred to one that he will be honest
in a given future contingency. Such is our confidence
in the uniformity of Nature. These six subjects: per¬
sonal existence, confidence in our senses, confidence in
our mental processes, personal identity, adequate
causes, and uniformity of nature, may be classed as
one branch of the Intuitive Power under the name of
First Truths. (See analysis, next page.)

INTUITIVE CONCEPTIONS.

73

Intuitive Conceptions.

Besides these primary truths, there are certain con¬
ceptions which seem to differ somewhat from all others,
and which have been attributed to intuition, and will be
classed as Intuitive Conceptions. Such are the con¬
ceptions of space, time and identity. There are ideas
necessary to our knowledge of the existence and dura¬
tion of the material things around us. Here also some
high authorities place our ideas of the beautiful and
sublime, and of right and wrong. Strictly speaking,
they are capacities of the mind through which judg¬
ment and reason reach such knowledge ; all minds
have by nature, both the ability to hold these ideas, and
the innate mould which shapes their general form and
tendency. The growth of the idea of the beautiful
and sublime, and that of right and wrong will in a
future chapter receive the attention due them.

Analysis of the Intuitive Power : —

Intuitive

Power.

r First Truths. <

Intuitive
Conceptions.

r Personal Existence.

Confidence in our Senses.
Confidence in our Mental Processes.
Personal Identity.

Adequate Causes.

^ Uniformity of Nature.

" Space.

Time.

Identity.

Idea of the Beautiful and Sublime.
Idea of Right and Wrong.

iRESERTATIVE POWER, OR THE

THEORIES.

EARLY all of our knowledge comes to us
ultimately through the medium of the five
special senses : sight, hearing, touch, taste
and smell. All matters pertaining to these
five senses have been much vexed questions
from the earliest times to the present.
Some of the doctrines that have been held
by eminent philosophers are certainly amus¬
ing to persons not familiar with such discus¬
sions. For instance, it has been held, and that not
very long ago, and by no less men than Hume and
Fichte and Hegel, that there is no reality outside of
the mind ; that I may think I am writing at my desk,
but that it is a mere appearance, and that in reality
there is probably no paper, no pencil, no desk. Others,
again, a more numerous and not less able sect, have
maintained that while, of course, the mind could not
take cognizance of matter, yet the matter really existed,
and a sort of image of it was the thing presented to the
mind by the different senses. Besides these sects in
all their various schools, there is another which asserts

that matter is real and does exist, and that we do

74

THEORIES.

75

recognize it with the mind, and that our humble and
much-abused senses are quite reliable. This seems
to be the most common-sense view that could possibly
be taken, and so, without stopping to give lengthy
reasons, we may enroll ourselves with the Realists, and
proceed to describe a few of the many very curious
things which present themselves in connection with
the five senses.

NOTABLE FACT.

A notable fact, this of our having five distinct and
separate senses, each fitted to perceive certain qualities
of matter, none infringing upon the offices of the
others, and yet all capable of so high a degree of

cultivation that if either of its two principal ones is

destroyed the others, to a great extent, supply the
deficiency.

It seems almost superfluous to dwell upon the
importance and value of the five senses, and yet it
may, perhaps, be worth while to try to conceive for
a few moments what would have been our condition
had we been less perfectly made in this respect.

The three senses, touch, taste and smell, minister
principally to the wants of the body; the other two,
sight and hearing, are the servants of the highest func¬
tions of the mind. Without them, how dreary and
blank would be our existence ! All communication

76

THE FIVE SENSES.

with the world would be cut off. Our social capacities,
and desires would be but means of the most cruel
torture. We should all be in the condition of Byron’s
“ Prisoner of Chillon,” or worse, for we could not even
take refuge among spiders and mice. Surrounded by
millions of our fellow-men, we could look none of them
in the face, exchange a kindly word with none of them.
Most desolate indeed would be our lot. The most
glorious scenes of nature would have no meaning for
us. For us the Alps would have no beauty, the
mighty rush of Niagara no sublimity. We might stand
in the midst of the most terrific storm, with no feeling
of its majesty ; the glare of the lightning unseen, the
crash of the thunder unheard. All the triumphs of
nature and art in the production of whatever is grand
or beautiful would be in vain ; we could not hear the
music and the poetry, and we could not see the paint¬
ing or sculpture. The particular uses of sight and

4

hearing are as various as the occasions of life ; they can
not be enumerated at all. So far as the qualities of
matter are concerned, sight has for its duty the per¬
ception of color, extension, form and distance, while
hearing takes notice of sound.

Touch acts as a safeguard to the body in various
ways. Perhaps it is the sense which tells us of the
degree of heat and cold and warns us to dress ourselves
accordingly. It tells us when anything is wrong in our

TOUCH.

77

clothing, and thus prevents radical injury to the body

from ill-fitting shoes, tight waists, etc. It informs us,

*

or helps to inform us, of the hardness, softness,
shape and dimension of things with which it comes in
contact. It is eminently a practical sense and does not
seem to afford us much of what can be called pleasure,
though to be sure there is a low degree of pleasure in
touching any soft delicate fabric or structure of any
kind.

feTE and Smell.

Taste and smell were given us principally to aid us
In the selection of proper food. The beast in the fields
seldom eats poisonous vegetables, because his keen
senses tell him of their noxious character. It is so
with us in a state of nature. Had we not, by constant
abuse, deadened the activities of these two senses, they
would never let anything pass down our throats which
could in any way be injurious to our health. The little
child likes his bowl of bread and milk, but will not
touch the highly flavored dishes which we older ones
relish. An amusing and somewhat humbling request
of a little three-year-old boy serves a fair example. A
group of persons, including the child’s parents, were
eating ice cream. The little fellow was given a taste,
but did not like it, and presently said, “Warm it, papa;
it’s too cold.” The child’s taste was pure and uncor¬
rupted. Aside from the usefulness of the taste and
smell in warning us against unhealthy food, they are

73

THE FIVE SENSES.

the source of a great deal of pleasure. The joys of the
table are no insignificant share of the joys of life —
with some people they are entirely too large a share.
The sweet, delicate perfumes of the flowers that strew
the earth, form a source of the purest pleasure. Who
that has ever been on a farm in summer time can fail
to remember the delicious odor of the new-mown hay,
or that of the breath of cattle as they return in the
evening from their day’s browsing upon clover fields ?

These five senses are classed together as making
up that power of mind which presents to the mind a
knowledge of the outside world, and is therefore called
the Present'ative Power, or Presentation.

Presentative Power.

Sight.

Hearing.

Touch.

Taste.

Smell.

DISTANCE.

Some of these perceptions are more or less complex,
being composed of a simple sensation, combined with
and supplemented by acts of judgment. Thus, I
have said that distance was determined by the sight.
The process is something like this : I see a man ; the
size is known to me ; comparing the real size as I
knew it, with the apparent size as the image of the man
is presented to my mind, I form a judgment as to the

DISTANCE.

79

probable distance between the man and myself. And
vice versa , the distance being known, we estimate the
size by a process quite similar. The operation is gen¬
erally performed so quickly that we are scarcely con¬
scious of it, but that the mind really does go through
some such process, is amply proven by such facts as
these. Travelers in Colorado often start to walk to
some object seemingly only a short distance from them,
but which is in reality several miles away. Here is the
reason : the object, we will suppose it to be a tree, is
of known size ; the air of Colorado being much purer
and dryer than that of most parts of the world, does
not intercept the view, and the tree is seen as distinctly
as it would be elsewhere at a short distance. The trav¬
eler judges in accordance with his experience gained
in other places — hence the deception. On the other
hand, in damp, foggy weather, objects seen seem to be
at more than their actual distance from us. Men in the
street, seem, when looked upon from the top of a very
high building, like mere boys ; sailors, at the top of the
masts, present the same appearance. Captain Parry,
the celebrated Arctic explorer, tells this circumstance,
which illustrates the same principle. Looking over a
uniform surface of snow, there was nothing with which
to make comparisons, hence, distance and size of
objects were unknown, and no reliable judgment could
be formed. “We had frequent occasions,” says he, “in
our walks upon the shore, to remark the deception
which takes place in estimating the distance and mag¬
nitude of objects — when viewed over an unvaried sur-

So

THE FIVE SENSES.

face of snow. It was not uncommon for us to direct
our steps toward what we took to be a large mass of
stone, at the distance of a half mile from us, but
which we were able to take up in our hands after one
minute’s walk. This was more particularly the case
when ascending the brow of a hill.”

SIZE.

4

“ In our judgment of vision by the magnitude of
objects, again,” says Dr. Abercrombie, “we are much
influenced by comparison with other objects, the mag¬
nitude of which is supposed to be known. I remember
once having occasion to pass along Ludgate Hill, when
the great door of St. Pauls’ was open, and several
persons were standing in it. They appeared to be very
little children ; but, on coming up to them, were found
to be full-grown persons. In the mental process which
here took place, the door had been assumed as of
ordinary size, and the other objects judged by it.
Had I attended to the door being much larger than
any door that one is in the habit of seeing, the mind
would have made allowance for the apparent size of the
persons ; and, on the other hand, had these been known
to be full-grown persons, a judgment would have been
formed of the size of the door. On the same principle,
travelers visiting the pyramids of Egypt have repeat¬
edly remarked how greatly the notion of their magni¬
tude is increased by a number of large animals, as
camels, being assembled at their base.”

CULTIVATION OF THE SENSES.

8 1

Cultivation of the Senses.

Whether it is the sense itself which is improved, or
whether it is only the power of attention to the impres¬
sion made upon the sense, it is difficult to say. Quite
likely it may be a combination of the two. But, be
that as it may, it is certain that in their practical mani¬
festations all of our senses are capable of being wonder¬
fully cultivated. The most remarkable examples of a
high degree of cultivation in the various senses, are in
the cases of persons who have been compelled by a
lack of some one sense to make up the deficiency by an
increased power in the others. I have heard a blind
man play upon the piano, playing two tunes at the
same time, or even playing one tune upon the piano
and another upon the organ, both at the same time.
H is playing of one piece at a time upon the piano, was,
so far as I could judge, perfectly accurate ; but there
was no soul or expression, his whole attention, appar¬
ently, being absorbed in the problem of striking the
proper notes, without being able to see the key-board.
In this and all similar cases (they are not rare), the
performer seems to have acquired a remarkable ability
to tell by the combined action of hearing, touch, and an
unnamed muscular sense, the location of his fingers.
Dr. Moyse, blind, could tell black cloth by the smell of
it. Others have been able to distinguish colors by the
touch ; black, as one individual said, having the greatest

degree of harshness, and blue the least. Dr. Aber-
6

82 THE FIVE SENSES.

crombie tells of two blind men who were much
esteemed as judges of horses. One of these, in giving
his opinion of a horse, declared him to be blind, though
this had escaped the observation of several persons who
had the use of their eyes, and who were with some
difficulty convinced of it. Being asked to give an
account of the principle on which he had decided, he
said that it was by the sound of the horse’s step in
walking, which implied a peculiar and unusual caution
in his manner of putting down his feet. The other
individual, in similar circumstances, pronounced a
horse to be blind of one eye, though this had also
escaped the observation of those concerned. When he
was asked to explain the facts on which he founded his
judgment, he said he felt the one eye to be colder than
the other. Dr. Rush tells of two blind young men,
brothers, of the city of Philadelphia, who knew when
they approached a post in walking across a street, by
a peculiar sound which the ground under their feet
emitted in the neighborhood of the post ; and they
could tell the names of a number of tame pigeons, with
which they amused themselves in a little garden, by
only hearing them fly over their heads. I have heard
of blind men who could form a pretty good estimate of
the height of a building, by sound. Mr. Saunderson,
a blind man, could distinguish by the sense of touch
the genuine from the spurious in a series of Roman
medals. In our asylums for the blind, the unfortunates
are taught to read, and that quite rapidly, from books

CULTIVATION OF**THE SENSES. 83

in which the letters are raised in the paper so as to
be felt by the fingers.

THE DEAF.

The deaf and dumb learn to talk quite readily by
means of signs made on the fingers, and denoting the
various letters of the alphabet. Deaf people frequently
acquire the ability to understand persons who are talk¬
ing by watching the motions of their lips. A most
wonderful and curious case of that kind was related
by Prof. Cohn, of the Chicago School of Languages.
He says that a deaf lady who was entirely ignorant
of German became his pupil. She could speak her
native language — English — and could understand it
by watching the lips of the speaker, but she had little
idea of beinor able to learn a foreign tongue in that
way ; still she tried it and succeeded perfectly, being
able in due season to understand, and, if I remember
the Professor correctly, to speak the German language
without ever having heard a word of it. Several
instances have been known of persons affected with
that extreme degree of deafness which occurs in the
deaf and dumb, who had a peculiar susceptibility to
particular kinds of sounds, depending apparently upon
an impression communicated to their organs of touch
or simple sensation. They could tell, for instance, the
approach of a carriage in the street, without seeing it,
before it was taken notice of by persons who had the
use of all their senses. Persons whose business it is to
test wine or tea can distinguish by the taste between all

84

THE FIVE SENSES.

the different varieties and qualities of those drinks. It
is said that a gentleman in France lost all his senses
except that of touch in one side of his face, and that
his friends were able to communicate with him by
tracing characters upon that portion which still retained
the power of feeling. The wonderful extent to which
the North American Indians have carried the education
of their senses is familiar to all. Sounds and sights
which would altogether escape the ears and eyes of
the ordinary white man are full of significance to the
Indian. He can pick his way through the pathless
woods or over the boundless prairies by certain indica¬
tions in the trees and plants, which tell him the points
of the compass. The slightest crackling of a twig or
rustling in the grass is sufficient to put him on his
guard. He can put his ear to the ground and hear
the tramp of the horses of a hostile force long before
they come into sight, and hear it plainly enough to
distinguish it from that of a herd of buffalo.

FALSE PERCEPTION.

It often happens in diseased conditions of the
organs of sense, and sometimes when they are healthy,
that false perception occurs. Things seem to be larger
or smaller than they are, or of different color, or things
appear to be where they are not, or there is a sensation
of sound when really no sound exists at the time.
There are a hundred different phases which these illu¬
sions may take. Only a few examples will be given.
The following is from Dr. Darwin : “ I covered a paper

FALSE PERCEPTION.

35

about four inches square with yellow, and with a pen
filled with a blue color, wrote upon the middle of it
the word banks in capitals ; and sitting with my back
to the sun, fixed my eyes for a minute exactly on the

center of the letter n in the word. After shutting my

%

eyes, and shading them somewhat with my hand, the
word was distinctly seen in the spectrum, in yellow
colors on a blue ground ; and then on opening my eyes
on a yellowish wall at twenty feet distant, the magni¬
fied name banks appeared on the wall written in golden
characters.” A gentleman who had been looking
intently at a print of the virgin and child, was surprised
to see, on looking up, at the other end of the room, a
female figue, life size, holding a child. The figure was
the exact counterpart of the print at which he had been
looking. Another gentleman seemed to see a woman
approaching him. He knew at the time that the figure
was an illusion, as he could see objects directly behind
her. Finally, upon his moving his body forward
slightly, the figure disappeared. A gentleman recover¬
ing from sickness heard one evening a particular strain
from a bugle. For about nine months this sound was
never out of his ears, during all of which time he was
in a very precarious state of health, and it was only
with the re-establishment of his strength that the
sensation left him.

OBSERVATIONS.

The five senses, all working in healthful unison,
enable the mind to correct the impressions of one

86

THE FIVE SENSES.

sense by those of the others in such a manner as by
their united operation to obtain full and accurate
intelligence concerning the surrounding world. The
well known case which the philosophic Cheselden has
related affords a decisive experiment, agreeing, as it
does, with many others, in proof that the information
derived from the sense of sight requires to be corrected
by information from different sources, but that when
the habit of seeing is established under this correction,
vision continues to suggest the true relation of objects
to each other.

A young man who had no remembrance of ever
having seen was treated by a surgeon and received
his sight, but when he first saw he could not judge
of distances, but thought all visible objects touched his
eye, as what he felt touched the skin. He expected
that pictures would feel like what they represented, and
was amazed when he found those parts which by light
and shadow appeared round and uneven, felt flat like
the rest, and asked which was the lying sense, feeling
or sight. When shown a miniature of his father, he
acknowledged the likeness, but desired to know how
so large a face could be expressed in so small a com¬
pass, saying it seemed as impossible to him as to put
a bushel into a pint. The things he first saw he
thought extremely large, and upon seeing larger
things, those first seen he conceived less, not being
able to imagine any lines beyond the bounds he
beheld. He could not conceive that the house could
look larger than the room he was in. He said every

OBSERVATIONS.

87

new object was a new delight. On first beholding a
large prospect his pleasure was beyond expression, and
he called it a new kind of seeing. These details prove
that sight does not originally inform us respecting the
real distance or magnitude of objects, but that we learn
these things from the experience and help of our other
senses ; therefore the mind . exercises an independent
judgment in comparing their impressions, a power
which the senses themselves could never have con¬
ferred. The basis of this independent judgment by
the mind is Intuition, and in the reasoning faculties,
which will be explained in their proper place.

The practical lesson from facts concerning the use
of our senses is simply the propriety of taking care
to employ them suitably, to preserve and improve
them, since our social comfort and influence, as well
as our intellectual advancement, depend in this world
on their integrity. Their destruction is the exclusion
of knowledge and wisdom at their chief entrances.
Delicacy of perception is essential to acuteness of
intellect ; but perception is perfected rather by the
will-power in the habit of attention while using the
senses than by keenness of sensation.

lEPRESENT/mOJi

HE mind has the power of calling up past
thoughts, feelings, events, and images of
things once seen. This power is, in a
general way, called memory, but it is more
than memory, for not only are things once
seen, afterward called up again, but we can
change the arrangement of these images in
our own minds. Remembering how a horse
looks and the appearance of a cow, we can
imagine how a creature would look having
a cow’s head on a horse’s body, thus using
the images of real things to create in the
mind an image of a thing that never was.
This faculty, generally engaged in calling up
pictures in the mind of real things once seen, is imagi¬
nation. A powerful imagination is the gift of the poet
who combines ideas in new and beautiful forms, and
holds in his mind the scenes of earth in pictures so vivid
and so striking that his descriptions of them thrill us ;
and the most ordinary mechanic who builds upon a
new plan must see in his mind the image of the frame
of his building, and a picture of the structure very
nearly as it will look when completed.

So, memory and imagination work together, con-

88

MEMORY.

s9

tinually representing to the mind whatever it has once
learned through Intuition, and the five senses, or Pre-
sentative power. Memory and imagination, then, form
what we may call Representation, or the Representa¬
tive Power of the mind.

Memory is a complex, not a simple faculty. I hear a
story told, and my mind retains it ; that is Memory,
properly speaking. Afterward I recall the story, think
it over again in detail, recalling each particular ; that is
Recollection.

DURATION OF MEMORY.

What is the nature of Memory? How long does it
last? Is it perpetual, or only temporal? These are
questions to which the philosophers have given quite
different answers. As to its nature, the best idea is
conveyed in the definition given above. Memory is sim¬
ply the power that the mind has of retaining the impres¬
sions made upon it. But how long does it retain them ?
While life lasts. In some way, no one knows how,
every thought, sight, sound, feeling, action, leaves its
impress upon the mind. The presumption is that the
impress stays there. It would require positive proof to
show that it is effaced. Such proof does not exist ; on
the other hand, many circumstances have been observed
which confirm the opposite doctrine.

It is well known that many persons who have been
rescued when at the point of drowning, report that

90

REPRESENTATION.

within a very short space of time their whole lives
seemed to rise up before them ; and that all their
actions, good and bad, came thronging about them.
Day records the following as having been related to
him by the subject of the narrative : “ He had been

entrusted with the safe-keeping of a package of valua¬
ble papers by a relative when about taking a long
journey. On the return of his friend he was utterly
unable to recall where he had placed the package. The
most diligent and careful search as well as every effort
of recollection failed to discover the desired package.
Years after, when bathing, he was seized with cramp
and sank. He rose and sank again ; and, as he was.
just sinking the third time, a companion succeeded
in reaching and rescuing him. During the momentary
interval between his disappearing the third time and his
being seized by his companion, his whole life in its
minute incidents passed in review before his mind ; and
among them the fact of his secreting the package and
the place where he had concealed it. He proceeded
immediately to the spot, where he found, just as he had
placed it, what he had so long sought in vain.”

Coleridge’s story.

Coleridge tells the following anecdote in his Bio-
graphia Literaria . The occurrence took place in a
Roman Catholic town in Germany about 1797. “A
young woman of four or five and twenty, who could
neither read nor write, was seized with a nervous fever,

f . \*^r I

during which, according to the testimony of all the

Coleridge’s story. 91

priests and monks of the neighborhood, she became
possessed of an evil spirit. She continued incessantly
talking Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, in very pompous
tones and with most distinct enunciation. The case
had attracted the particular attention of a young physi¬
cian, and by his statement many eminent physiologists
and psychologists visited the town and cross-examined
the case on the spot. Sheets full of her ravings were
taken down from her own mouth, and were found to
consist of sentences, coherent and intelligible, each for
itself, but with little or no connection with each other.
Of the Hebrew, a small portion only could be traced
to the Bible ; the remainder seemed to be in the Rab¬
binical dialect. All trick or conspiracy was out of the
question. Not only had the young woman ever been
a harmless, simple creature, but she was evidently
laboring under a nervous fever. In the town in which
she had been resident for many years as a servant in
different families, no solution presented itself. The
young physician, however, determined to trace her past
life step by step ; for the patient herself was incapable
of returning a rational answer. He at length succeeded
in discovering the place where her parents had lived ;
traveled thither, found them dead, but an uncle surviv¬
ing, and from him learned that the patient had been
charitably taken by an old Protestant pastor at nine
years old, and had remained with him some years, even
till the old man’s death. Of this pastor the uncle
knew nothing, but that he was a very good man. With
great difficulty, and after much search, our young med-

92

REPRESENTATION.

ical philosopher discovered a niece of the pastor’s, who
had lived with him as his housekeeper, and had inher¬
ited his effects. She remembered the girl ; related that
her venerable uncle had been too indulgent, and could
not bear to hear the girl scolded; that she was willing
to have kept her, but that, after her patron’s death,
the girl herself refused to stay. Anxious inquiries
were then, of course, made concerning the pastor’s
habits, and the solution of the phenomenon was soon
obtained. For it appeared that it had been the old
man’s custom, for years, to walk up and down a passage
of his house into which the kitchen door opened, and
to read to himself in a loud voice, out of his favorite
books. A considerable number of these were still in
the niece’s possession. She added that he was a very
learned man and a great Hebraist. Among the books
were found a collection of Rabbinical writings, together
with several of the Greek and Latin fathers; and the
physician succeeded in identifying so many passages
with those taken down at the young woman’s bedside,
that no doubt could remain in any rational mind con¬
cerning the true origin of the impressions made on her
nervous system.” The girl had heard him from the
kitchen years before, and now in her excited mental
condition she repeated things she never understood,
and in quite regular order. A very similar instance is
that of the Countess of Laval, who, when sick, fre¬
quently spoke in a language that her servants were
unable to understand. A nurse from her native prov¬
ince, Brittany, was engaged, and recognized the strange

Coleridge’s story.

93

idiom as her native tongue. Yet when well and awake,
the Countess did not understand a word of that speech,
so completely had she, to all appearances, forgotten it.

OUR OWN EXPERIENCE.

Cases like these might be given in great number.
But they do not form the only support for this view of
memory. Every one has observed the same thing in
himself in a less degree. Scarcely a day passes, but
that some incident of which we have not thought for
years comes up to our minds. Memory has taken the
passing moment, fixed it upon the canvas, and hung
the picture on the soul’s inner chamber, for her to look
upon when she will. You see in a newspaper the name
of some old acquaintance, and what a flood of thoughts
comes over you. Thousands of dead hopes and disap¬
pointments, joys and sorrows, are revived and live
again. You pass through a town which you visited
years ago, and your whole life in the place is exhibited
in panorama before you. You sit dreaming dreams
before the fire, and your boyhood home appears — all
the woods and streams, the meadows and hills, every
nook and cranny in the old house and barn, the place
where you stubbed your toe and fell one Sunday morn¬
ing, the naughty things you did and the whippings you
got for them, the prizes you won at school, the kisses
you used to throw at the freckle-faced girl at your left
when the teacher wasn’t looking, the notes you wrote
when you got a little older — also when the teacher
wasn’t looking — the proud aspirations of your early

94

/

REPRESENTATION.

manhood, how you were going to spurn difficulties
from your pathway and carve out an immortal name
for yourself, how one by one these aspirations and
longings were laid aside, and you became the sober¬
sided dray-horse of a man you now are. All these
things show themselves, do they not? And when the
dream that began so gayly ends, it finds your eyes dim
and your cheeks wet.

COMPARISONS.

Writers have found many material things to which
they have compared the mind. It has often been
likened to a wax tablet whereon things were written.
It has been said to be a clean, white piece of paper
in infancy, on which all events and thoughts were
recorded and blots were made, until death. Plato
compares it to a pigeon house where one keeps the
birds he has caught until he needs them. So, he
thinks, we put away the ideas we acquire, and when
we want them we go to our pigeon house and take
whatever we are in need of. Here is another simile.
The mind seems to me like a piece of paper whereon
are written in invisible ink every thought, every action,
every desire, every passion or emotion, every mental
experience of what kind soever, to stay as long as life
shall last. We may not see it, may not suspect its
presence, but just as a little heat applied to the paper
will bring into view the words written in invisible ink,
so the right kind of stimulus will invariably produce
the record of our past lives. We never forget. How

COMPARISONS.

95

careful we ought to be that these things which must
be remembered, may be worthy of memory ! Cole¬
ridge even suggests that the judgment-book of Script¬
ure may be no other than the replacing of our earthly
body by a celestial one, by means of which this invis¬
ible ink may be brought out, and all our deeds and
thoughts, good and bad, stand plainly recorded in
our own memories.

Recollection.- Haws of Association.

Recollection, as we saw above, is the recalling to
mind, either voluntarily or involuntarily, of something
in the past which has been remembered. We cannot
directly call up before our minds anything from
memory. The process adopted by the Will here is
always an indirect one. I think of one thing, and that
leads me to think of another, and that of another, and
so on indefinitely. Our whole thought is a series of
chains of less or greater length, each having for its first
link some perception which has changed the course
of our ideas.

The different ways in which things that naturally
suggest each other are related, have been called the
Laws of Association. There are several classifications
of these laws, but the following includes the more
important ones, and will fill our purpose. Resem¬
blance, contrast, contiguity, or nearness in time or
place, cause and effect, — these four are called the
primary laws of association.

96

REPRESENTATION.

There are in addition several secondary laws which
in various ways modify the operations of these. The
principal secondary laws are attention, lapse of time,
constitutional differences, professional differences, and
repetition.

We may now present a complete analysis of memory
by diagram. As Imagination is the only branch needed
to complete the Representative Power, it will occupy
its proper place in a complete diagram and be treated
next after the completion of memory.

'Memory

Proper.

' Resemblance.

'Memory. -

' Primary.

Contrast (Difference).
Nearness of time or place.

Represen¬
tation, or
Represen- -<
tative
Power.

Recollection,
or Laws of -
k Association.

Cause and effect.
Attention.

Lapse of time.

_ Secondary.

Constitutional Differences.

Professional Differences.
„ Repetition.

k Imagination.

Irimary Haws of Association.

RESEMBLANCE.

One of two things that are alike is almost sure to
suggest the other in our minds. If I should see a
house to-day like one I lived in several years ago, I
should certainly think of my former home. The sight
of a person having some peculiarity which an acquaint-

PRIMARY LAWS OF ASSOCIATION. 97

ance also has, will recall the acquaintance. Hobbes
relates that he was in a company where the conversa¬
tion was upon the Civil War in England, when sud¬
denly some one asked the value of a Roman denarius.
No question, seemingly, could be less pertinent to the
subject of conversation. But Hobbes says that after a
little thought he was able to retrace the steps which
the questioners mind had taken. The chain was some¬
thing like this : The civil war suggested the personal
history of King Charles; that led to the traitorous
conduct of those who delivered him to his enemies ;
that to the treason of Judas Iscariot, who received
thirty pieces of silver for betraying the Lord. The
Romans were in possession of Jerusalem at the time,
and hence the connection between the thirty pieces
of silver and the Roman coin called the denarius. I
have somewhere read that Longfellow used to remem¬
ber the street number — No. 39 — of the house in
Boston in which Miss Appleton, afterward his wife,
lived, by associating it with the thirty-nine articles
of the Church of England.

“ Resemblance operates,” says Upham, “as an asso¬
ciating principle, not only when there is a likeness
or similarity in the things themselves, but also when
there is a resemblance in the effects which are pro¬
duced upon the mind. The ocean, for instance, when
greatly agitated by the winds, and threatening every
moment to overwhelm us, produces in the mind an
emotion similar to that which is caused by the presence
of an angry man who is able to do us harm. And in
7

98

REPRESENTATION.

consequence of this similarity in the effects produced,
it is sometimes the case that they reciprocally bring
each other to our recollection. Dark woods, hanging
over the brow of a mountain, cause in us a feeling of
awe and wonder, like that which we feel when we
behold approaching us some aged person whose form
is venerable for his years, and whose name is renowned
for wisdom and justice. As we are so constituted that
all nature produces in us certain effects, causes certain
emotions similar to those which are caused in our
intercourse with our fellow beings, it so happens that,
in virtue of this fact, the natural world becomes living,
animated. The 6cean is said to be in anger, the sky
smiles, the cliff frowns, the aged woods are venerable,
the earth and its productions are no longer a dead
mass, but have an existence, a soul, an agency. We
see here, in part, the foundation of metaphorical lan¬
guage, and it is here that we are to look for the
principles by which we are to determine the propriety
or impropriety of its use.”

CONTRAST.

The power of contrast in suggestion is scarcely less
potent than that of resemblance. The palace suggests
the hovel; the wealth of the Vanderbilts and Roths¬
childs comes to our minds together with the poverty
of so many we see around us daily ; the valley recalls
the mountain ; the desert, the fertile plain ; a flood
reminds us of a drouth. In reading, we constantly find
joined such ideas as these : joy and sorrow, pleasure

CONTRAST.

99

and pain, day and night, sickness and health, the cradle
and the grave, life and death, famine and plenty, liberty
and slavery, luxury and want. All this shows the
natural tendency of the mind to contrast dissimilar
things.

CONTIGUITY, OR NEARNESS OF TIME AND PLACE.

This is, of the four, perhaps the most widely
influential cause of recollection. If the civil war of
America is mentioned, your mind instantly travels
backward, and you think over those stirring times.
The names and deeds of Grant, Lee, Sherman, Jack-
son, Johnston, McClellan, Farragut, Lincoln, Davis,
and dozens of others, come thronging up before you.
You receive again the tidings of the terrible slaughter
at Bull Run, Vicksburg, Shiloh and Gettysburg. In
short, you live it all over again in memory. The singu¬
lar power which local association often possesses is
well illustrated by the following anecdote, which a
physician tells of himself : “ Walking in the street
lately I met a lady whose face was familiar to me, but
whom I could not name. I had at the same time an
impression that I ought to have spoken to her, and to
have inquired for some relative who had been my
patient ; but, notwithstanding repeated efforts, I could
not recognize her, and passed on. Some time after,
in passing along the road a few miles from town, my
eye caught a cottage to which I had been taken about
six months before to see a gentleman who had been
carried into it in a state of insensibility, in consequence

IOO

REPRESENTATION.

of being thrown from a gig. The sight of the cottage
instantly recalled the accident and the gentleman who
was the subject of it, and at the same instant the
impression that the lady whom I had passed in the
manner above mentioned was his wife. In this case
no recollection was excited by the sight of the lady,
even after repeated and anxious attempts ; and I
believe I should not have recognized the patient
himself had he been along with her ; whereas the
whole was recalled in an instant by the sight of the
cottage.” Here is another story, believed to be
authentic. It illustrates not only the force of local
memory, but also the duration of memory as discussed
above : A lady, in the last stage of a chronic disease,
was carried from London to a lodging in the country.
There her infant daughter was taken to visit her,
and, after a short interview, carried back to town.
The lady died a few days after, and the daughter
grew up without any recollection of her mother till
she was of mature age. At this time she happened
to be taken into the room in which her mother died
without knowing it to have been so. She started on
entering it, and when a friend who was along with her
asked the cause of her agitation, replied : “I have a
distinct impression of having been in this room before,
and that a lady who lay in that corner and seemed very
ill leaned over me and wept.” The following is to the
same effect. It is taken from Ribot’s book on the dis¬
eases of memory : “A clergyman, endowed with a decid¬
edly artistic temperament (a fact worth noting), went

CONTIGUITY.

IOI

with a party of friends to a castle in Sussex, which he
did not remember ever to have previously visited.
As he approached the gateway he became conscious
of a very vivid impression of having seen it before,
and he seemed to himself to see not only the gateway
itself, but donkeys beneath the arch and people on
top of it. His conviction that he must have visited
the castle on some former occasion made him inquire
of his mother if she could throw any light on the
matter. She at once informed him that, being in
that part of the country when he was about eighteen
months old, she had gone over with a large party and
taken him in the panier of a donkey ; that the elders
of the party having brought lunch with them had eaten
it on the roof of the gateway, where they would have
been seen from below, while he had been left on the
ground with the attendants and donkeys.” This is the
branch of memory which should receive most careful
attention by those who desire to cultivate this faculty.
The study of any subject to be remembered should be
continued by the student until he sees it distinctly in
parts, the relative importance of these parts, and the
order in which they come ; that is, which stands first
and which comes last in making up the whole.

It is this association of place and time that makes us
desire to visit the spots hallowed by great deeds or the
presence of mighty men. It is what gives Rome so
much magnetism to draw the educated people of the
whole world. One feels a strong emotion of delightful
awe when standing in the Roman Forum, where

102

REPRESENTATION.

Cicero, Caesar, Cato, and all the other wondrous Latin
orators and statesmen spoke and worked. It is no
common feeling one would have in treading the very
stones Virgil and Horace have trod. That is also what
makes Westminster Abbey, to all lovers of English
literature and history, the most interesting spot on the
globe. It is what draws travelers in Germany to the
little town of Weimar, where lived the poets Goethe,
Schiller, Herder and Wieland, and where preached the
great reformer Luther.

It is also what causes the peculiar pleasure attend¬
ing any reference to our younger days. Dr. Rush tells
the following pleasant story : “ During the time I

passed at a country school in Cecil County, in Mary¬
land, I often went on a holiday, with my schoolmates,
to see an eagle’s nest upon the summit of a dead tree,
in the neighborhood of the school, during the time
of the incubation of the bird. The daughter of the
farmer in whose field the tree stood, and with whom I
became acquainted, married and settled in this city
about forty years ago. In our occasional interviews,
we now and then spoke of the innocent haunts and
rural pleasures of our youth, and among others, of the
eagle’s nest in her father’s field. A few years ago,
I was called to visit this woman when she- was in
the lowest stage of typhus fever. Upon entering the
room, I caught her eye, and with a cheerful tone of
voice said only, ‘The eagle’s nest.’ She seized my
hand, without being able to speak, and discovered
strong emotions of pleasure in her countenance, proba-

CONTIGUITY.

103

bly from a sudden association of all her early domestic
connections and enjoyments with the words which I
uttered. From that time she began to recover. She is
now living, and seldom fails when we meet, to salute
me with the echo of — ‘The eagle’s nest.’”

The herdsmen in the Swiss Alps have a number of
simple tunes called Rcinz des Vackes , which they sing or
play on the alp-horn. The effect of hearing any of
these tunes in foreign lands is to produce so great
a degree of home-sickness that the bands of Swiss
regiments in foreign service have to be forbidden to
play them, in order that the soldiers may not in that

way be rendered unfit for the performance of their

•

duties

CAUSE AND EFFECT.

The cause suggests the effect, and, on the contrary,
the effect suggests the cause. The sight of a knife
with which we have been hurt, reminds us of the
wound. The mere name of an article of food which
has at some time made us sick, will produce a qualm at
the stomach. A torn garment makes us think of a nail
on which it was probably torn. John Locke relates
the following in his “ Essay on the Human Understand¬
ing.” “A friend of mine knew one perfectly cured
of madness by a very harsh and offensive operation.
The gentleman who was thus recovered, with great
sense of gratitude and acknowledgement, owned the
cure all his life after as the greatest obligation he
could have received; but whatever gratitude and

104

REPRESENTATION.

reason suggested to him, he could never bear the sight
of the operator ; that image brought back with it the
idea of that agony which he suffered from his hands,
which was too mighty and intolerable for him to
endure.” The following is of a somewhat pleasanter
nature, found in the same essay: “It is of a young
gentleman, who, having learned to dance, and that to
great perfection, happened to have an old trunk stand¬
ing in the room where he learned. The idea of this
remarkable piece of household stuff had so mixed itself
with the turns and steps of all his dances, that though
in that chamber he could dance excellently well, yet it
was only whilst that trunk was there ; nor could he
perform well in any other place, unless that or some
such other trunk had its due position in the room. If
this story shall be suspected of being dressed up with
some comical circumstances, a little beyond precise
nature, I answer for myself, that I had it some years
since from a very sober and worthy man, upon his own
knowledge, as I report it : and I dare say, there are
very few inquisitive persons, who read this, who have
not met with accounts, if not examples, of this nature,
that may parallel, or at least justify this.”

Secondary Haws of Association.

ATTENTION.

It is a fact well known to every one, that the degree
of attention which we pay to a thing at the time it
occurs, very much affects the probability of our recol-

SECONDARY LAWS OF ASSOCIATION. 105

lecting it. Two persons attend the same lecture — one
listens attentively, and after the lecture is over, can
follow the course of thought from beginning to end ;
the other allows his mind to wander hither and
thither, and he is able to recollect only an occasional
idea.

LAPSE OF TIME.

The longer the time that has elapsed since any
occurrence, the fainter the remembrance of it will be.
There is an apparent exception to this rule in the case
of the old person who remembers the things that hap¬
pened in his boyhood, and forgets those of his middle
and old age. But it is really no exception. The fact
is simply that the first and last laws combined is
stronger than the second alone. (See analysis, page
96.) .Children are more strongly influenced by the
things that meet their senses than older people who
have learned, either voluntarily or otherwise, to prac¬
tice the Horatian maxim of nil admirari (to wonder
at nothing). Besides, all through their lives they have
been fondly thinking about those early days, and
talking about them, and thus by habit have made
the recollection of them an essential part of their
existence. A beautiful example occurs in the life of
Niebuhr, the celebrated Danish traveler. When old,
blind, and so infirm that he was able only to be car¬
ried from his bed to his chair, he used to describe
to his friends the scenes which he had visited in his
early days with wonderful minuteness and vivacity.

106 REPRESENTATION.

When they expressed their astonishment, he told
them that as he lay in bed, all visible objects being
shut out, the pictures of what he had seen in his
travels continually floated before his mind’s eye, so
that it was no wonder he could speak of them as if
he had seen them yesterday. With like vividness
the deep intense sky of Asia, with its brilliant and
twinkling host of stars, which he had so often gazed
at by night, or its lofty vault of blue by day, was
reflected in the hours of stillness and darkness on
his inmost soul.

CONSTITUTIONAL AND PROFESSIONAL DIFFERENCES.

Constitutional differences and professional differ¬
ences act in precisely the same manner. Several
men look at the same large tree. One tries to find
out what kind of a tree it is, and what are its habits
of growth ; another wants to know how much fire¬
wood or lumber it will make ; another, whether it
will receive polish and make handsome furniture, and
still another is content to admire its towering height,
broadr-reaching limbs and beautiful foliage, without
seeking to know anything else about it. Men are
apt to recollect whatever appertains to their own
calling in life. The lawyer remembers the legal
decision ; the doctor remembers the account of a
remarkable disease ; the farmer remembers whatever
relates to grain and stock ; the engineer, anything
relating to the strength and use of materials.

REPETITION.

107

REPETITION.

The only one of the five laws mentioned which
remains to be considered is repetition. Of this per¬
haps the most familiar illustration is the process of
committing to memory. The lines finally get so that
they seem to run off our tongues without effort on our
part. Especially is it a very common experience that
when we get started on a stanza, we can complete
it without difficulty, but a break occurs at the end of
the stanza or paragraph. The reason is that we com¬
monly commit stanza by stanza, and do not practice so
much upon joining one to another. A distinguished
theatrical performer, in consequence of the sudden ill¬
ness of another actor, had occasion to prepare himself,
on very short notice, for a part which was entirely new
to him ; and the part was long and rather difficult.
He acquired it in a very short time, and went through
it with perfect accuracy, but immediately forgot every
word of it. Characters which he had acquired in a
more deliberate manner he never forgets, but can per¬
form them at any time without a moment’s preparation,
but in regard to the character now mentioned there
-was the further and very singular fact, that though he
has repeatedly performed it since that time, he has
been obliged each time to prepare it anew, and has
never acquired in regard to it that facility which is
familiar to him in other instances. When questioned
respecting the mental process which he employed the
first time he performed this part, he says that he lost

io8

REPRESENTATION.

sight entirely of the audience, and seemed to have
nothing before him but the pages of the book from
which he had learned it, and that if anything had
occurred to interrupt this illusion, he should have
stopped instantly.

IMPORTANCE OF MEMORY.

We can scarcely conceive what the condition of man
would be had he no memory. The past would be more
completely beyond our reach than the future is now.
The most exquisite delights would perish as we enjoyed
them. We should be robbed of all the bright hours
which friendship, love and family affection can give
us. Our own fathers and mothers would be strangers
to us, and we to them, when we met. We could not
even know ourselves, for the body is constantly chang¬
ing, and the only way I know I am the same being
that I was fifteen years ago is by my internal con¬
sciousness of the fact; that is, by memory. We could
not converse, because the instant a thing was said it
would be forgotten ; nay, more than that, there could
be no such thing as a language to serve as the medium
of conversation, for no one could remember the word
which stood for a particular idea. Indeed, what idea
would be possible ? My idea of a horse is of an
animal that I have observed to have four feet, a
mane, a long neck, to be strong, capable of bearing
burdens, etc., etc. But without memory I should only
see a peculiar object which I had never before, to my
knowledge, seen, and about which I knew absolutely

IMPORTANCE OF MEMORY IO9

nothing and could learn nothing. Such, then, is only
a faint image of what man would be without memory.
He could better afford to spare almost any other
faculty which he possesses. As it is, how great is
the happiness we derive from it! Have we at any
time seen a beautiful picture, a majestic building, a
fine landscape, a lovely human face, a glorious sun¬
set — it abides with us forever. The soncrs that we
have heard on other days go sounding through our
souls again, and are the solace of many a weary hour.
The golden hours of youth, which all poets so fondly
sing, are ever present with us in memory. Those who
are old and feeble, or sick, or blind, find their chief
pleasure in living over again the days of their strength
and activity. We con the books of all ages, and
gather from them grand thoughts of sages and mar¬
tyrs, which cheer and encourage us on our way.
The deeds of heroes who have gone before give us
inspiration to more strenuous exertions and nobler
aims.

Hail, memory, hail ! in thy exhaustless mine,

From age to age unnumber’d treasures shine!

Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey,

And place and time are subject to thy sway!

— Rogers .

RELATION TO GENERAL MENTAL POWER.

It is a very common impression that an unusually
good memory is incompatible with great intellectual
strength. I believe, however, that there is very little,

I IO

REPRESENTATION.

if any, ground for this prevalent opinion. It is often
the case that extraordinary endowment in one thing
is found connected with some degree of weakness
in other things. Thus, Blind d om, the celebrated
Negro musical prodigy, is said to be almost an idiot
in every thing outside of music. Probably a great
memory is no more apt to be united with a mind
generally weak, than is a great talent for music, or
mathematics, or rhetoric, or any other particular thing.
A man certainly could not be very highly endowed who
had an unusually weak memory, for it lies at the very
basis of all mental processes. So many cases are on
record, however, of powerful memories joined to weak
general faculties, that a gift in that way can not be
considered a reliable criterion of mental ability. The
following examples will illustrate and enforce what has
been said on this subject.

On one occasion an Englishman called upon Frederic
the Great, of Prussia, in order to exhibit to him his
remarkable memory. As a test, Frederic summoned
Voltaire, who read aloud to the King a poem of consid¬
erable length, which he had just completed. Meanwhile
the Englishman was secreted where he could hear every
word, although Voltaire could not see him. After the
reading the King remarked to Voltaire that he could
not possibly be the author of the poem, since a for¬
eigner was present who could repeat it from beginning
to end. The Englishman was called and repeated the
poem without missing a word. Voltaire was astounded,
and so vexed that he tore his manuscript up. Then

RELATION TO GENERAL MENTAL POWER.

I I I

the matter was explained, and he wrote his poem down
again from a second repetition by the Englishman.

In the church of St. Peter, at Cologne, the altar-
piece is a large and valuable picture by Rubens, repre¬
senting the martyr and son of the apostle. This
picture having been carried away by the French in
1805, to the great regret of the inhabitants, a painter of
that city undertook to make a copy of it from recollec¬
tion ; and succeeded in doing so in such a manner, that
the most delicate tints of the original are preserved
with the most minute accuracy. The original painting
has now been restored, but the copy is preserved along
with it ; and even when they are rigidly compared, it is
scarcely possible to distinguish the one from the
other. Cicero, speaking of the celebrated Roman
orator, Hortentius, says that “ Nature had given him so
happy a memory, that he never had need of committing
to writing any discourse which he had meditated, while,
after his opponent had finished speaking, he could
recall, word by word, not only what the other had said,
but also the authorities which had been cited against
himself.” It is related of the same person that he once
sat by the side of an auctioneer during the day, and in
the evening told from memory who had bought each
article and how much he had paid for it. These state¬
ments, being compared with the record kept by the
clerk of the sale, were found to be correct in every
particular. Themistocles could call by name every
one of the twenty thousand Athenian citizens. Pliny
says Cyrus knew the name of every soldier in his army.

I 12

REPRESENTATION.

Dr. Wallis, of Oxford, on one occasion at night, in
bed, proposed to himself a number of fifty-three places,
and found its square root to twenty-seven places, and,
without writing down numbers at all, dictated the result
from memory twenty days afterward. It was not
unusual with him to perform arithmetical operations
in the dark, as the extraction of roots to forty decimal
places. The distinguished Euler, blind from early life,
had always in his memory a table of the first six pow¬
ers of all numbers from one to one hundred. On one
occasion two of his pupils, calculating a converging
series, on reaching the seventeenth term found their
results differing by one unit at the fiftieth figure,
and in order to decide which was correct, Euler
went over the whole in his head, and his decision
was found afterward to be correct. Magliabechi,
librarian of the Duke of Tuscany, had one of the
most remarkable memories of modern times. To
test his memory, a gentleman of Florence lent him
at one time a manuscript he had prepared for the
press, and some time afterward went to him with a
sorrowful face and pretended to have lost his manu¬
script by accident. The poor author seemed incon¬
solable, and begged Magliabechi to recollect what he
could and write it down. He assured the unfortunate
man that he would, and, setting about it, wrote out
the entire manuscript without missing a word. He
had a local memory also, knowing where every book
stood. One day the Grand Duke sent for him to
inquire if he could procure a book which was very

RELATION TO GENERAL MENTAL POWER. I 1 3

scarce. “No, sir,” answered Magliabechi, “it is impos¬
sible ; there is but one in the world ; that is in the
Grand Seigniors library at Constantinople, and is
the seventh book on the seventh shelf, on the right
hand as you go in." Napoleon, Pascal, Leibnitz
and Carlyle, all had very strong memories. Macau¬
lay had, perhaps, the best possessed by any eminent
English “man of letters.” He once said that if
“Paradise Lost” were wiped out of existence he could
replace it from memory.

GOOD MEMORIES AND POOR INTELLECTS.

The examples thus far given are of good memories
united with other powers correspondingly well devel¬
oped. There are many curious cases of strong memory
showing itself in persons whose general faculties were
weak, or at best only medium. There was a young
Corsican who could, without hesitating, repeat thirty-
six thousand names in the order in which he heard
them, and then go through the list, reversing the order.
A young woman of some twenty years, partially insane,
could name the counties with their respective county-
seats, of every state in the Union. She was also
remarkably quick in certain kinds of computation.
The following are taken from Ribot’s “ Diseases of
Memory”; he himself borrows them from various
sources. An idiot could remember the day when
every person had been buried in the parish for thirty-
five years, and could repeat with unvarying accuracy

the name and age of the deceased, and the mourners at
8

REPRESENTATION.

114

the funeral. Out of the line of burials he had not one
idea, could not give an intelligible reply to a single
question, nor be trusted even to feed himself. Certain
idiots, unable to make the most elementary arithmetical
calculations, repeat the whole of the multiplication
table without an error. Others recite, word for word,
passages that have been read to them, but cannot
learn the letters of the alphabet. Drobisch reports the
following case of which he was an observer : A boy
of fourteen, almost an idiot, experienced great trouble
in learning to read. He had, nevertheless, a marvelous
facility for remembering the order in which words and
letters succeeded one another. When allowed two or
three minutes in which to glance over the page of
a book printed in a language which he did not know,
or treating of subjects of which he was ignorant, he
could, in the brief time mentioned, repeat every word
from memory exactly as if the book remained open
before him. An idiot, in a fit of anger, told of a
complicated incident of which he had been a witness
long before, and which at the time seemed to have
made no impression upon him.

QUICK LEARNERS.

It is frequently the case that a person who learns
readily has not a very tenacious memory, and on the
other hand that one who is somewhat slow in gathering
ideas holds them fast when once he has grasped them.
Occasionally, however, we find a man whose memory
is both quick and firm. Such a man was Macaulay.

GOOD MEMORIES AND POOR INTELLECTS. 1 1 5

He read with wonderful rapidity, and could always
recollect what he had read. It is related that he
was once riding in a coach when the conversation
turned upon a certain new book which one of the
party had with him. Macaulay had not seen it.
The one with whom he had been talking dropped
into a doze for a few moments, and Macaulay picked
up the book and looked through it. When the gentle¬
man awoke he was surprised to hear Macaulay enter
into a somewhat elaborate criticism upon the book,
quoting long passages from it to enforce his views.
“ I thought you had not read the book,” said he. “ I
had not,” was the reply; “but I read it while you
were sleeping.”

INFLUENCE OF DISEASE.

The effects of disease upon memory are extremely
various and curious. A few examples will be given
of the different ways in which disease acts, without
dwelling upon the laws which are supposed to govern
these effects; first, because they are not well under¬
stood, and second, because even if they were definitely
settled, they are too complex and obscure to be avail¬
able for our present purpose. A number of instances
have already been given in the two sections relating
to duration of memory and contiguity of place, which
also illustrate the matter now under consideration.

An Italian gentleman, mentioned by Dr. Rush,
who died of the yellow fever in New York, in the
beginning of his illness spoke English, in the middle
of it French, but on the day of his death he spoke

REPRESENTATION.

I 16

only Italian. A Lutheran clergyman, of Philadelphia,
informed Dr. Rush that Germans and Swedes, of whom
he had a considerable number in his congregation,
when near death always prayed in their native lan¬
guages, though some of them, he was confident, had
not spoken these languages for fifty or sixty years.
Dr. Gregory was accustomed to mention in his lectures
the case of a clergyman, who, while laboring under a
disease of the brain, spoke nothing but Hebrew, which
was ascertained to be the last language he had acquired.
An English lady, mentioned by Dr. Prichard, in recov¬
ering from an apoplectic attack, always spoke to her
attendants in French, and had actually lost the knowl¬
edge of the English language ; this continued about a
month. Dr. Beattie speaks of a gentleman, who,
having received a blow on the head, lost his knowledge
of Greek, but seemed not to have lost anything else.
A disease or injury sometimes leaves the memory of
things happening before the trouble uninjured, while
no trace remains of the period beginning with the
injury. On the other hand, the precise opposite some¬
times occurs, the patient having a perfect recollection
of the injury, but not of his past life. A young
clergyman, when on the point of being married, suf¬
fered an injury of the head by which his understanding
was entirely and permanently deranged. He lived in
this condition till the age of eighty ; and to the last
talked of nothing but his approaching wedding, and
expressed impatience for the arrival of the happy day.
A respectable surgeon was thrown from his horse

INFLUENCE OF DISEASE.

1 1 7

while riding in the country, and was carried into an
adjoining house in a state of insensibility. From this
he very soon recovered, described the accident dis¬
tinctly, and gave minute directions in regard to his own
treatment. In particular, he requested that he might
be immediately bled ; the bleeding was repeated at his
own desire, two hours after ; and he conversed cor¬
rectly regarding his feelings and the state of his pulse
with the medical man who visited him. In the evening
he was so far recovered as to be able to be removed
to his own house, and a medical friend accompanied
him in the carriage. As they drew near home, the
latter made some observation respecting precautions
calculated to prevent unnecessary alarm to the wife
and family of the patient, when, to his astonishment,
he discovered that his friend had lost all idea of having
either a wife or children. This condition continued
during the following day, and it was only on the third
day, and after further bleeding, that the circumstances
of his past life began to recur to his mind. Again,
sometimes, the patient completely loses memory of a
certain period, as in the following case : “ A young

woman, married to a man whom she loved passionately,
was seized during confinement with prolonged fainting,
at the end of which she lost all recollection of what
had occurred since her marriage, inclusive of that cere¬
mony. She remembered very clearly the rest of her
life up to that point. * * * At first she pushed

her husband and child from her with evident alarm.
She has never recovered recollection of this period of

REPRESENTATION.

1 1 8

her life, nor of any of the impressions received during
that time. Her parents and friends have convinced
her that she is married and has a son. She believes
their testimony, because she would rather think- that
she has lost a year of her life than that all her asso¬
ciates are imposters. But conviction and consciousness
are not united. She looks upon husband and child
without being able to realize how she gained the one
and gave birth to the other.”

After attacks of apoplexy it quite frequently occurs
that persons lose memory of words and names while
they yet have a clear conception of the things and
persons represented by them. One gentleman knew
his friends as well as ever, but he could not name
them. Walking one day in the street he met a gentle¬
man to whom he was very anxious to communicate
something respecting a mutual friend. After various
ineffectual attempts to make him understand whom he
meant, he at last seized him by the arm and dragged
him through several streets to the house of the gentle¬
man of whom he was speaking, and pointed to the
name-plate on the door. Another could not be made
to understand the name of an object if it was spoken
to him, but understood it perfectly when it was written.
His mental faculties were so entire, that he was en¬
gaged in most extensive agricultural concerns, and he
managed them with perfect correctness, by means of a
remarkable contrivance. He kept before him, in the
room where he transacted his business, a list of the
words which were most apt to occur in his intercourse

INFLUENCE OF DISEASE. I 1 9

with his workmen. When one of these wished to com¬
municate with him on any subject, he first heard what
the workman had to say, but without understanding
him further than simply to catch the words. He then
turned to the words in his written list, and whenever
they met his eye he understood them perfectly. These
particulars I had from his son, a gentleman of high
intelligence. Another frequent modification consists
in putting one name for another, but always using the
words in the same sense. An example of this also
occurred in the gentleman last mentioned. He uni¬
formly called his snuff-box a hogshead and the associa¬
tion which led to this appeared to be obvious. In the
early part of his life he had been in Virginia, and con¬
nected with the trade in tobacco ; so that the run of
his thoughts from snuff to tobacco, and from tobacco
to a hogshead, seemed natural.

LAW GOVERNING FORGETFULNESS.

The law governing the loss of memory of signs,
that is, forgetting all the ways we have of telling others
anything, seems to be pretty well ascertained. Amne¬
sia (loss of memory) of language and signs progresses
from proper names to substantives, then to adjectives
and verbs, then to the language of the emotions, and
finally to gestures. This destructive movement does
not take place at random ; it is governed by a vigorous
principle — from the least organized to the most organ¬
ized, from complex to simple, from the least automatic
to the most automatic. When forgetfulness of signs is

120

REPRESENTATION.

complete and recovery begins, do they return in inverse
order to that in which they disappeared? Illustrations
are rare. I find, however, a case recorded by Dr.
Grasset of a man who was seized with complete
inability of expressing his thoughts, either by speech,
by writing, or by gestures. After a time the faculty of
expression returned little by little, first manifesting
itself through gestures, then through speech and
writing.

With one example of loss of memory so complete
that re-education was necessary, this part of the sub¬
ject will be closed. A clergyman, of rare talent and
energy, of sound education, was thrown from his car¬
riage and received a violent concussion of the brain.
For several days he remained utterly unconscious, and
when restored his intellect was observed to be in a
state similar to that of a naturally intelligent child.
Although in middle life, he commenced his English
and classic studies under tutors, and was progressing
satisfactorily when, after several months’ successful
study, his memory gradually returned, and his mind
resumed all its wonted vigor and its former wealth
and polish of culture.

FAILURE OF MEMORY IN AGE.

One of the best known phenomena of memory is.
the gradual failure of it in old people as they increase
in age. The loss of it seems to be generally in about
the same order as in disease : proper names first, and
then other things. Some very curious incidents have,

FAILURE OF MEMORY IN AGE.

I 2 I

on account of failing memory, happened to distin¬
guished persons. A few of these will be given for
the interest they possess. When Linnaeus was getting
old (he died at the age of seventy-one) the reading of
his own books gave him much pleasure. Sometimes
while reading them he would cry out, forgetting that
he was the author, “ How beautiful ! What would I
not give to have written that ! ”

On day some one recited to Sir Walter Scott a poem
which pleased him, and he inquired the author. It was
one of his own.

It is said that Emerson, after attending Longfellow’s
funeral, was unable to remember whose it was. It will
be remembered that Emerson himself died only a little
over a month later than his brother poet, at the advanced
age of nearly seventy-nine years.

A lady was driving out with the poet Rogers, then
ninety years old, and asked him after an acquaintance
whom he could not recollect. “ He pulled the check¬
string, and appealed to his servant: ‘Do I know Lady
M.?’ The reply was, ‘Yes, sir.’ This was a painful
moment to us both. Taking my hand, he said, ‘ Never
mind, my dear, I am not yet compelled to stop the
carriage and ask if I know you ! ’ ”

MEMORY IN ANIMALS.

Some animals appear to possess memories almost as
tenacious as that of man. The mocking bird remem¬
bers the tunes it hears, and repeats them. The parrot
acquires a small stock of words, which it often uses very

122

REPRESENTATION.

appropriately. All kinds of domestic animals learn to
know their masters and their homes, and most of them
can be taught various tricks. Horses have been known
to observe how gates were opened, and remember the
process well enough to perform the operation them¬
selves. Both dogs and cats will open doors that are
fastened by latch. A soldier of Pondicherry, who
commonly carried to one of these animals [elephants]
a certain measure of arrack every time that he received
his pay, having one day drank more than common, and
seeing himself pursued by the guard, who threatened
to conduct him to prison, took refuge under the ele¬
phant and slept there. It was in vain that the guard
attempted to draw him out from this asylum ; the
elephant defended him with his trunk. Hours after
the soldier, become sober, was struck with terror to
find himself lying under an animal of this enormous
bulk. The elephant, who, no doubt, perceived his
consternation, caressed him with his trunk to remove
his fears, and made him understand that he might
depart freely.

An English friend not long ago told me a story
which he heard in his boyhood. It well illustrates
the remarkable power of memory in dogs. A gentle¬
man in England owned a fine large dog, of which he
was very fond. One day the animal was missing.
Rewards were offered, but no trace could be found
of him, and the search was finally given up. Many
years afterward the gentleman was traveling in a dis¬
tant part of the country, and stopped over night at

MEMORY IN ANIMALS.

I23

a small inn. During the night he was wakened by
a slight noise, and found in the room two burglars
and a large dog. The men were talking of killing
him. He sprang out of bed, and the dog was about
to attack him, when suddenly it stopped, looked at
him, and then turned against the burglars. With its
assistance he succeeded in defeating the robbers and
putting them to flight. Upon striking a light, the
dog proved to be the one he had lost so long before,
and which had never forgotten him.

ARBITRARY ASSOCIATION.

As we recollect only by means of association,
attempts have been made ever since very early times to
utilize the principles of association in forming systems
of mnemonics (contrivances to hold facts in the
memory), by the aid of which we might be able to
recollect whatever we wished without much difficulty.
Various expedients scarcely deserving the name of
system are commonly resorted to, as for instance,
tying a string around the finger, turning a ring so that
the set shall be next the palm of the hand, associating
a person whose name you wish to remember with some
friend or eminent person with whose name you are
quite familiar. From the same principle is derived the
idea of putting things into the form of a song, as, for
example, the many geography songs, grammar songs,
the logic songs, which all ex-students remember, about
Barbara and Celarent, and especially the very well

124

REPRESENTATION.

known verse running: “Thirty days have September,
April, June, and November,” etc.

What is probably the oldest system of mnemonics,
or artificial memory, is attributed to the Greek poet
Simonides, who lived in the fifth century before Christ,
a description of which is adapted from an English
encyclopedia: “You choose a very spacious and
diversely arranged place — a large house, for instance,
divided into several apartments. You impress on the
mind with care whatever is remarkable in it ; so that
the mind may run through all the parts without hesi-

r

tation or delay. Then, if you have to remember a
series of ideas, you place the first in the hall, the
second in the parlor, and so on with the rest, going
over the windows, the rooms, to the ornaments, and
several objects of furniture. Then, when you wish to
recall the succession, you commence going over the
house in the order fixed, and in connection with each
apartment you will find the idea that you attached to
it. The principle of the method is, that it is more easy
for the mind to associate a thought with a well-known
place than to associate the same thought with the next
thought without any helps whatever. Orators are
said to have used the method for remembering their
speeches. The method has been extensively taught by

writers on mnemonics in modern times.

OBJECTION TO THESE SYSTEMS.

But there is a very grave objection to all these
systems of artificial memory. However efficacious

OBJECTION TO THESE SYSTEMS. 1 25

they may be in preserving matters for recollection —
and in a well-disciplined mind I do not believe such
a system could find any place, or do any good — the
matters so committed to memory are always there¬
after associated with the objects in connection with
which they were placed. Who wants the figures of
tables and chairs and rooms flitting about among his
ideas of some fine oration that he has heard, or some
great book that he has read? We should prefer to
have our memories of these things a little less in
quantity rather than to have them degraded by
trifling associations.

CULTIVATION OF MEMORY.

But may the memory itself be cultivated to such
a degree that there will be no need of these artificial
systems? It may. We possess no faculty which may
not be very much increased in power, and memory
is one of those most susceptible of improvement. The
rules for its cultivation can be very readily derived
from what has been' said above under the various
sections on the laws of association. There is also
a likeness with the physical powers which will help
to make this matter plain. The man who exercises
any set of muscles will have those muscles stronger
than the man who does not. As exercise makes the
bones, muscles and lungs strong, so the first and
all-important thing to be attended to by the person
who wishes to improve his memory is exercise. This
statement can be enforced by an unlimited number

126

REPRESENTATION.

of facts; a few, however, will suffice. It is a com¬
mon remark that people have not so good memories
now as they did have before the invention of printing.
The reason is, that they can now get books and papers
cheap, and there find whatever they want to know ;
hence they do not take the trouble to fix things firmly
on their minds. The same remark is true, and in a
still higher degree, of students and literary men.
Being constantly employed with books and paper
and pencil, they know better than others where
knowledge of all kinds is stored, and hence have
less necessity for recollection. And if anything must
be kept in mind, a note is usually made of it. For
these reasons they have not generally so good mem¬
ories as business men.

Thurlow Weed, who had a remarkably tenacious
and ready memory, related, not very long before his
death, how he got it. He said that when he com¬
menced life as an editor and politician, the chief
obstacle he had to combat with was an extremely poor
memory, which could not retain faces, names, dates,
engagements, or anything else. The method he
adopted for its improvement was to try to recall at
night as much as possible of the day’s doings. At first
he could recollect but very little, but he persevered,
and soon began to notice a slight betterment. The
idea now occurred to him that this might be made
more interesting and profitable if, instead of thinking
the day over to himself, he should tell his wife what
had happened. So she became his confessor, and

CULTIVATION OF MEMORY.

127

continued to serve in that capacity until her death.
He improved till he could tell her everything, — whom
he had met, and what had been said, the editorials he
had written, what he had eaten for dinner, all the little
incidents of the day ; and the process was not only
interesting to both of them, but highly profitable as a
drill for his memory.

The first and chief rule for the improvement of the
memory is, therefore, — exercise it! And in all drills
for the memory the two important points are attention
and repetition.

ATTENTION.

Cultivate a habit of close attention to whatever
happens about you. An hour of close, vigorous appli¬
cation, is worth two hours spent in a rambling, listless
survey of any subject. It is said by those who have
tried it, that the “ half-day system ” of teaching little
children in the primary schools is a complete success.
It is claimed that the child learns more in the half day
than he did before in the whole day. The reason is
that the time spent in the school room is so short that
his active, earnest attention can be gained for the
whole period, while when he has to stay in the room all
day, he gets languid and weary, and pays attention to
nothing. Acquire the habit of correct association.
Trace the relations existing between the new fact and
the facts with which you were already acquainted.
Turn the matter over in your mind until you are sure
you understand it in all its bearings and phases. Do

128

REPRESENTATION.

not be content with a half knowledge of it ; know
it all.

REPETITION.

Recall it as often as possible ; keep it before the
mind until it gets fixed in its position by habit. Then
there will be little difficulty in recollecting it whenever
you wish, by any one of the dozen chains of association
to which you have attached it.

'iGDAGINATIOfl.

ERHAPS the best key to the meaning of
the word imagination, is the derivation of it.
It comes from the Latin word imago , image,
or picture. So, imagination is the imaging
or picturing power of the mind. It differs
from memory, as has already been pointed
out, in this, that memory only recalls feel¬
ings, ideas, or facts, which the mind has
before experienced, or learned, while the
imagination pictures new scenes and creates new com¬
binations. It is not necessary that the object should
have existed in the mind before. We may imagine
things that never had existence, nay, that never could
have existence. The power is, however, often called
into use in remembering something which we have seen
or heard, or in some other way come into contact with.
Thus, I may have seen a fine building somewhere, ten
years ago, and I now remember many of its more strik¬
ing features, but I could scarcely recall the small
points. Imagination comes to the aid of recollection,
and the result is a picture in my mind of the building,
complete and beautiful, varying slightly in all likeli¬
hood, from the original building, but approximating

very closely to it.

9

129

V

130 IMAGINATION.

The imagination may be said, in its widest sense, to
mean the same as invention, denoting that faculty of
the mind by which it either “ bodies forth the form of
things unknown,” or produces original thoughts or new
combinations of ideas from material stored up in the
memory. The fancy may be considered that peculiar
habit which presents to our choice all the different
materials that serve the efforts of the imagination.
This faculty is the great spring of human activity, and
the principal source of human improvement. As it
delights in presenting to the mind scenes and charac¬
ters more perfect than those which we are acquainted
with, it prevents us from ever being completely satisfied
with our present condition or with our past attain¬
ments, and engages us continually in the pursuit of
some untried enjoyment, or of some higher excellence.
“The truth of it is,” says Addison; “I look upon a
sound imagination as the greatest blessing in life, next
to a clear judgment and a good conscience.”

THE FOUNDATION OF ART.

This is the power which makes the painter, the
poet, the musician, the sculptor, the architect. It is
the power which transforms the homely things we see
about us into wondrous forms of beauty. It presents us
fairer scenes than ever were known, mountains more
lofty and rugged, storms that lash the sea into a wilder
fury, and blind us with a more vivid glare of lightning,
lakes calmer and bluer and brighter, forests more
somber and silent and sad. The humble cottage dis-

o

THE FOUNDATION OF ART. 131

solves, and in its stead rises a gorgeous palace, stretch¬
ing away column after column into the distance. High
in the air towers its mighty dome ; its pillars are of
Parian marble carved into forms marvelously fair.
Golden fountains throw aloft the richest, brightest
sparkling wine. The walls and floor and ceiling are
filled with pictures made by hands more skilled
than Raphael’s or Michael Angelo’s. Sweet odors of
many flowers pervade the atmosphere. Angelic forms
float about, singing songs more thrilling than ever
mortal heard ; and amid all this varied loveliness, the
kingliest kings and the fairest dames of history and
romance stroll arm in arm together.

DEITIES.

Imagination gives to Heaven its charms, and to
hell its horrors. Imagination peopled the woods and
streams of Greece and Italy with nymphs and fauns.
It made craggy Mount Olympus the home of royal
Jove and his court of gods. It gave to the rude Scan¬
dinavians of the North their strong-god, Thor, with the
mighty hammer. It has filled the mountains and
plains of Europe with a delightful race of fairies. It is
always and everywhere clothing cold, hard fact with
grace and loveliness, multiplying the enjoyments of
life a hundred fold. “By imagination,” says Addison,
“ a man in a dungeon is capable of entertaining himself
with scenes and landscapes more beautiful than any
that can be found in the whole compass, of nature.”

i32

IMAGINATION.

THE ARTIST AGAIN.

It is needless to tell of what use the faculty of
imagination is to the artist ; for to whatever form
of art he may devote himself, imagination is, and must
be, the soul of his every undertaking. By imagination
alone could the unknown sculptor have conceived that
marvelous statue of Apollo, which has been the
wonder and delight of the thousands upon thousands
of visitors who have thronged the Vatican during
the last three hundred and seventy-five years. Reason
and memory and judgment all would have been power¬
less for such a task. Where else but in his imagination
could Raphael have seen his “Madonna” and “Trans¬
figuration?” Or Milton, old and blind, have seen his
Eden ? Or Beethoven, completely deaf, have heard
his majestic symphonies and sonatas ? Or how else
but by the aid of a soaring imagination could Christo¬
pher Wren have planned the great St. Paul’s cathedral,
the glory of London ?

OTHERS THAN ARTISTS.

But artists are not the only class of mental workers
who must depend upon imagination for a large part of
their power. The historian must not only know many
facts about the age of which he is to write, but he must
have an imagination capable of arranging those facts,
and filling up the gaps between them, so as to present
a complete and living picture of the age. His Crom¬
well must not be “a wretched politico-metaphysical

OTHERS THAN ARTISTS.

1 JO

abstraction,” a mere bundle of ambition, hypocrisy,
cruelty and fanaticism, mixed in such and such
proportions. He must be to the historian and his
reader a real flesh and blood, bone and sinew, nerve
and brain man — a man walking among his fellow-men,
toiling with them, meeting obstacles and overcoming
them, possessed of human affections and human weak¬
nesses, gloomy and despondent at times, again filled
with a sustaining confidence in the righteousness of his
cause. This he must be, yet this he cannot be without

a great effort of the imagination on the part of the

%

historian to transport himself into Cromwell’s age and
see him and his surroundings just as they were. The
readers of history, or science, or fiction, and the
observers of pictures, and statuary and buildings, must
be endowed with strong imagination, in order that they
may be able to comprehend and appreciate the works
they see. The unimaginative person can perceive no
beauty or nobility in the finest works of art.

The inventor, or mechanic, or philosopher, must have
imagination enough to enable him to look forward and
see what his completed plan or system will be, and to
what results it will lead. The orator needs imagina¬
tion, that he may embody his strong thoughts and
arguments in words that shall reach straight home to
the hearts of his hearers.

THEORY.

There are several matters of theory upon which it
would not be profitable for us to dwell. For instance,

134

IMAGINATION.

there is a dispute as to whether the faculty of imagina¬
tion is a simple or a complex one ; another, as to
whether it is partly voluntary or wholly spontaneous ;
another, as to whether it is always passive in its nature
or sometimes active and sometimes passive. All these
questions, interesting enough in themselves, but not
entering into the plan of this book, may be found
discussed in any good treatise upon psychology.

EXCESSIVE IMAGINATION.

We have pointed out some of the uses of the
imagination ; it is sometimes abused, and becomes
even detrimental to the possessor. Some persons —
not very many — are so highly gifted with this faculty,
that they can find no satisfaction for their aesthetic
natures in the realm of reality, but are compelled to
live constantly in the unreal, among creations of their
own. Such a person is unfitted for life among the
coarser natures that surround him, and when he
mingles in the bustling, pushing affairs of the world, as
every one must sometimes do, he often gets sadly
jostled and buffeted about. Such men were Rousseau,
and Shelley, and Keats. Those who find themselves
so constituted, ought to restrain their luxuriant imag¬
inations and try to cultivate a more matter-of-fact way
of looking at things. They should mingle freely in
society, and take an active part in business life. Not
that they should destroy or maim their heaven-given
faculty, but they should protect it against assault by an
armor of practical philosophy. Such imaginations are

EXCESSIVE IMAGINATION.

135

exotic in this nineteenth century of ours — and indeed
in any century — and need to be carefully housed
against the chill northwest storms that may blow down
upon them from the “practical,” unfeeling, money¬
getting world.

CULTIVATION.

But, as was said above, such persons are rare. Nine
hundred and ninety-nine out of a thousand should cul¬
tivate rather than restrain their powers of imagination.
And the question now comes, how ? Read the works
of the world’s greatest poets and orators. Read them,
I mean, not with the eyes and mouth only, but with
the mind and heart as well. Enter to the utmost limit
of your power into the world they lived in and strove
to represent. Get out of yourself and the United
States, and the nineteenth century, and back into the
manners and time and place which the poet or speaker
wishes to exhibit to you. “ Whoever wants to under¬
stand the poet, must go into the poet’s land,” says
Goethe. If you are reading history, strive not only
to comprehend the facts and remember them, but
try also to get back into the time which you are
studying, and live in it. Macaulay said he owed his
surprising knowledge of the minutiae of history to
his practice of day-dreaming, fancying himself a sub¬
ject of one of the Henrys, say, and hunting up all
the details of life in that age — where the streets and
public resorts of London were, what men were leaders
at that time, and how they looked, what sort of clothes

IMAGINATION.

136

people wore, what kind of houses they lived in, and
a hundred other items. It is said that he became as
familiar with the life of ancient Athens and Rome
as most men are with that of their own country and
generation. A person trying to cultivate his imagi¬
nation can also gain great good from an attentive study
of ereat works of art and the beautiful scenes which

o

nature furnishes us. Works of art worth looking at
may not be accessible to us, but no one is so poor, no
one lives in so flat and uninviting a country, that he
may not almost any morning ■ or evening see sights
which, if properly regarded, will surely elevate him,
and give him more exalted ideas and keener feeling
of beauty.

A higher effort will be required to produce imagi¬
native works of your own. Many persons can appre¬
ciate poetry and imaginative prose who could not
write it themselves. In the one, fancy has only to
follow in the path that has been made before her ;
in the other, she has to cut out her own way through
the jungles with no guide or helper — quite a different
task. But the effort, if made, will be found to be
not an unprofitable one. It will introduce into your
life pleasures that you had not dreamed of before,
higher and purer than those you had known.

MEN REMARKABLE FOR IMAGINATION.

Michael Angelo (1474-1563) was of noble descent,
the families of both his father and mother having long-
been prominent in Italy. He won early renown by his

MEN REMARKABLE FOR IMAGINATION. 1 37

skill and originality in painting and sculpture. He
spent a great part of his long life in the service of
various popes, and his most celebrated works are his
paintings made for them in St. Peters, which greatest
of all churches is a monument also of his surpassing-
genius as architect. The city of Florence owed much
to his skill in civil engineering. In almost everything
to which he gave his mind, he outstripped his pre¬
decessors, and left models not yet equaled. And yet
the pope kept him employed for years in constructing
roads, and other tasks, which might better have been
left to minds of less power. His life was pure, and his
reputation unsullied by baseness. He refused all
remuneration for building St. Peter’s, regarding it as
a service to the glory of God.

John Milton, after Shakespeare the greatest poet of
England, was born December 9, 1608. He was very
carefully educated, completing his course for the
Master’s degree at the University of Cambridge, and
supplementing that by several years of hard study at
his father’s home. His life divides itself into three
periods of not far from twenty years each, during the
first of which, his student period, he wrote several
exquisite short poems, full of all the luxuries a young
and powerful imagination could bestow. During the
second, he was busily engaged in the political disputes
growing out of a civil war. During the third, after
restoration of monarchy, blind from excessive study, a
political fugitive, compelled to hide from officers
seeking his life, he retired within himself, and wrote

IMAGINATION.

138

out of the depths of his soul that great poem, “ Para¬
dise Lost,” which verily “the world will not willingly
let die.”

Dante, the greatest poet of Italy, and one of the
greatest of the world, was born of high family, in Flor¬
ence, in the year 1265. He received as good an educa¬
tion as that age and country afforded, and passed
through the various grades of public life, until, at the
age of thirty-five, he rose to the highest dignity the city
could confer. Now began his trouble. Italy was in the
midst of her Guelph-Ghibelline troubles at that time,
and by a sudden turn in affairs, Dante, among others,
was driven out of his native city. Indeed, at one time
he was sentenced to be burned alive, if found. He
never returned to Florence, but wandered about from
one place to another until his death in 1321. During
this long exile, he wrote his wonderful poem, “The
Divine Comedy” — “this poem of the earth and air.
This mediaeval miracle of song,” this “voice of ten
silent centuries,” as Carlyle calls it.

Other men who have had unusual powers of imagi¬
nation are Goethe and Schiller, the two greatest poets
of Germany ; Shakespeare, the greatest dramatist of the
world ; Spenser and Shelley, each of whom has been
styled “the poet’s poet.” Then there are the powerful
orators, men who move multitudes by their eloquence ;
and eloquence must always depend upon the imagina¬
tion for life-like and forcible discriptions and illustra¬
tions. Indeed, it is safe to say that every truly great
mind has a vivid imagination.

CULTIVATION.

13 9

HIGHEST USES OF IMAGINATION.

«►

It is the divine attribute of the imagination that it
cannot be repressed or confused ; that when the real
world is shut out, it can create a world for itself, and
with a witch-like power can conjure up glorious shapes
and forms, and brilliant visions, to make solitude popu¬
lous, and irradiate the gloom of a dungeon.

When the imagination takes only the primary
elements of things seen and combines them into
entirely new forms, it may fairly be called a creative
faculty. This is its highest power.

In the work of a dramatist, or a novelist, the
characters they write about may be, and generally are,
specimens of persons the writers have seen ; or they
may be combinations by the mind from the original
elements of human nature, perhaps true to that nature,
perhaps not. So, too, in invention. The mind may
use partial combinations ; or, as in the case of
Whitney’s cotton gin, the desired end being known, it
may frame an original and wholly new combination for
its accomplishment. In these ways imagination works,
every manner of material being plastic under its eye,
and it is easy to see that its importance to human
progress can scarcely be overestimated.

And not only with general progress is the imagi¬
nation intimately connected, but also with individual
happiness. We have sometimes seen persons with
strong and active imaginations, that seemed to work
chiefly to a suspicious tendency. Out of some look or

140

IMAGINATION.

I

casual expression of a friend, having no real reference
to them, they would frame guesses that would make
them wretched and throw them off into a coolness of
friendly feeling for which none of their associates could
account. Nothing can be more unhappy. Anything
but a suspicious temper combined with an active imagi¬
nation, for the comfort of the person himself, or of
those connected with him. How different this should
be! It should rather be the business of the imagina¬
tion to embellish life with trustful and happy pictures,
and add to its cheerfulness and hope.

But perhaps the greatest power of imagination over
life comes from the creation by it of what are called
ideals, not of art, but of character and conduct. Ideals
are representations of that which is perfect, or which
we esteem to be. They are a setting before ourselves
of lines of conduct such as belong to the higher and
better parts of our nature. This all can do, and he
who does not do it, and hold himself to them, is but
drift-wood driven hither and thither by the circum¬
stances in which he may be placed. The man who does
it is like a vessel bearing on to its port. He has an'
ideal, an end, a purpose. He is aiming at excellence.
For a person thus to form the ideal of a perfect life,
.and to shape his course steadily with reference to it, is
a great thing. It is a great thing, both for himself
and for society ; it is what is now needed in opposition
to the loose doctrines that are coming in upon us.
The moralists tell us that the only real man is the man
who sticks to reality, and that our business is to live

CULTIVATION.

141

as well as we can, and then trust God for the rest.
This is certainly a truth, if he lives as well as he can.
But the vital question is whether the man who stands
on the ground which is usually called morality is trying
to climb higher, higher ; whether he is endeavoring to
develop himself ; and whether his view of what his own
life and character ought to be is such that he is led to
the continual improvement both of his inner nature
and that part of him which other folks see. “ Living
as well as we can ” usually consists in a sort of loose
compliance with the civil laws of the land — which is
so far right ; in a sort of mild obedience to neighbor¬
hood custom and rules — which is so far right; in a
sort of general avoidance of the rougher forms of
indulgence which public sentiment condemns — which
is so far right ; in an observance of those courtesies on
which the ease of dealing with our fellows so much
depends — and that is right. As for the rest, it is said
that a man should be a good father, a good husband,
a good neighbor, a good citizen, and a good business
man. But when you say that this is about all you can
expect of a man, you violate a fundamental law of
human nature. Indeed, the law of all nature tends to
the casting away of things used and the reaching up
for things higher. This is progress, and he who
attempts to halt in Nature’s march will be but trodden
down to perish.

The healthy imagination is found to be continually
engaged in picturing more perfect things. This is its
great work. In the clear light of the other branches

142

IMAGINATION.

of the intellect, warmed into a glow by a sympathetic
sensibility and held steady by a wise will, it should
fill a high place in every human character.

>

l

Ihe Reflective Iower.

N various ways, but principally through the
medium of the five senses, we gain a knowl¬
edge of a vast number of detached facts
and objects, having, as we learn them, no
especial connection with each other, and
hence being of comparatively small value
to us. They are merely the food of the
mind ; they furnish the material which the
Reflective or thinking power may work
upon and convert into solid mental sub¬
stance.

OUR CHIEF FACULTY.

This power of abstract thought, reflection,
is the most exalted of all our intellectual
It is the one that in the main distinguishes
man from the lower animals. Without entering just
now into a discussion of the time-honored question as
to whether the difference is one of kind, or one cf
degree only ; whether animals do really reason at all or
not; — it will probably be granted by almost any one
that animals do not possess the power of reasoning to
any great extent. In most other respects, man is sur¬
passed by many of his inferiors in the animal world.

143

i

faculties.

144

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

The ox is stronger than he ; the stag is fleeter ; the fox
is more cunning; the bull-dog has more physical cour¬
age ; the bird has a sweeter voice ; the hound has the
sense of smell more acute ; the eagle has a keener eye ;
and so on to the end. But there is one power, and
that the highest, which man has above the brute, and
which, despite his inferior physical prowess, makes him
more than a match for any of them, and that is this
power of thinking, reasoning, reflecting.

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MAN AND MAN.

It is the relative fineness of this same faculty that
raises one man above another. In what else consists
the superiority of the architect over the hod-carrier ? of
the general over the private soldier? In better bone
and sinew, better lungs and stronger stomach? Not
at all.

“Now in the names of all the gods at once,

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,

That he is grown so great?”

Upon the meat of thought, good Cassius; it is not
in brawn, but in brain, that Caesar is greater than you.
That very ordinary body which gives you so much
sport, sustains a head thronged with mighty thoughts.
There is the reason why he can ‘'bestride the narrow
world, like a Colossus.”

The power of thought, or Reflection, divides itself
into two branches. First, that of classifying all that
the mind knows ; and second, reasoning upon the things

DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MAN AND MAN.

145

known. Then there are two kinds of reasoning,
deductive and probable ; and probable again presents
itself in two forms. But this is all best shown by
the usual diagram, or analysis, of the subject.

Classification.

Reflective Power. <

w Reasoning.

' Deductive.

Probable.

f Inductive
tFrom Analogy.

• Classification.

If a merchant doing a large business were to put
down this account on one slip of paper and that
account on another, and throw all his letters, accounts,
price-currents, bills, receipts and other business papers
into one big box, of what value would they be to him ?
He would still have them all, but he could not use
them. He must make out some sort of a classifica¬
tion of these things, and then give to each its appointed
place, where he knows that he can find it whenever
it is wanted. In that way only can he prevent his
gatherings of various documents from becoming an
obstacle and a hindrance, rather than a help, to his
farther progress. So it is with the mind. If it has
no place to put its rapidly gathering facts and experi¬
ence, they will finally clog its way and load it down
with their enormous weight. The mind must first

classify its knowledge and put it away upon the proper
10

146

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

shelves ; then it may commence its process of reason¬
ing, and so create new materials ; just as the merchant,
having all his possessions properly arranged, may use
them, and thereby get new wealth.

RELATION TO SCIENCE.

A hasty glance will be sufficient to show that this
faculty of putting together, or classifying, is the start¬
ing point of all science. Without it there could be no
general ideas; everything would be particular. We
could not have much, if any, language. All such
words and conceptions as horse, dog, house, tree,
man, city, in short, all common nouns, would be
swept out of existence. Instead of the general name
and idea — man — there would only be an infinite num¬
ber of individual men, who must be thought of as
individuals or not at all. It would plainly be impos¬
sible for us to keep in mind the names of so many
distinct objects. But, very wisely, the Creator has
implanted in us a natural tendency to classify and
generalize the many experiences of life. Let us try
to imagine the effect which it has upon science. We
will suppose a man to be set down for the first
time in the world, and surrounded by members of
all the tribes of animals that are known to exist
upon the earth. At first it would be merely a mat¬
ter of amazement to him. He could see no connection
among the various beasts before him. Presently,
however, he would notice that while they were not

CLASSIFICATION.

H7

alike, yet many of them had points of similarity.
For example, a very large number, not resembling
one another in much else, would be seen to have
four feet. Others have wings, and can fly ; others
swim, and still others crawl on the ground. Then
he would form the classes of quadrupeds, birds,
fishes, and snakes. Taking now the quadrupeds by
themselves, he would soon see that there were sev¬
eral different kinds. Some have horns ; these would
after a while be further classified into cattle, sheep,
goats, deer, etc. Others, having certain features
peculiar to themselves, would later be called horses,
zebras, donkeys, etc. And so the process of division
would continue until the minute classification of
modern zoology was reached.

But not only does the process of division go on ; its
opposite is also taking place. The first step men¬
tioned was of this kind. After a considerable lapse of
time it would be discovered that the quadrupeds and
birds and monkeys and some others had at least one
thing in common which was not possessed by the
worms and mollusks, namely, a back-bone. Hence
there would be formed one grand family comprising all
which had back-bones ; and so on until the unit, ani¬
mal, was reached. Now, after these thousands of
classes have been formed, when a new bird, or reptile,
or other animal, is discovered, the zoologist examines
it and finds what its characteristics are, and names it
accordingly. If there should be no class already
formed whose characteristics are the same as those of

148

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

the specimen in hand, a new class must be made.
In this way were formed all the sciences — physical,
mental, and moral. First, always, a vast collection of
unarranged, poorly understood facts, then classification
more and more complete, and hypothesis, and theory,
and proof, and thus — science.

TESTIMONY.

The range of our individual experience is quite
restricted. Only a few of the millions of things con¬
stantly transpiring about us come to our personal
notice. We saw none of the events which happened
in the distant past. We must then get an enormously
large portion of our knowledge through other persons,
that is, by testimony ; and it becomes important that
we should know the principles by which we may judge
of the reliability of testimony. Are we to believe
everything that any one tells us ? Are we to shut our¬
selves up and credit nothing that we ourselves have
not seen or cannot understand ? Or is there an average
somewhere between these extremes, which, using due
diligence, we may find and hold fast to? It is evi¬
dently our natural tendency to place much confidence
in whatever is told us. The child believes everything,
no matter how marvelous, but the man is wary and
cautious, even skeptical. Where now is the truth ?

It is plain that there are two things to be taken into
consideration in. judging of the probable truthfulness
of any particular statement — the narrator and the
narration.

TESTIMONY.

149

THE NARRATOR.

We are naturally much more ready to believe a
statement when made us by one whose reputation for
veracity is good than we should be if our informer
were commonly addicted to falsehood. This effect
of reputation is heightened by personal experience.
If we have been told something remarkable by a
person before, and it has proved to be true, we are
strongly inclined to trust him a second time, and
with every renewal of this experience our confidence
in him gets more complete. On the other hand, a
man by whom we have once been deceived will get
but little credence afterward, and especially if the
deception has been practiced often or in weighty
matters, we shall regard with great suspicion any¬
thing he may say. It is in accordance with this
well-known principle that witnesses in court have
their “reputation for truth and veracity” so strictly
inquired into.

If two or more persons of good character, without
in any way colluding for that purpose, unite in a
statement agreeing upon all the principal points, we
place much more confidence in them than we should
in any one of them. If the story is such that no
possible benefit could accrue to the teller from its
belief, we are inclined to credit it; doubly so if it
is one which will rather result in pecuniary loss,
disgrace, or other misfortune; conversely, if gain is
evidently to be derived by the party from the story,

150 THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

if it is believed, we are apt to be very cautious
about accepting it as truth.

Again, we may have all possible confidence in a
person’s honesty, but little in his ability. In gen¬
eral, we will sooner believe anything upon the testi¬
mony of a shrewd, capable man, than upon that of
a child or an idiot. The only exceptions to that
rule are those cases in which the honesty and sin¬
cerity of the man might for some cause be open to
suspicion. It is often the case that the witness is
himself deceived. He may be superstitious; he may
have a very vivid imagination ; he may be timid ;
many things may conspire to make him think he
sees and hears what he really does not. It may
also be the case that though his honesty and ability
are both above suspicion, his opportunities for know¬
ing the thing of which he speaks may have been
defective, and hence his information may not be
complete and trustworthy. Before placing uncondi¬
tional reliance upon any narration, we should satisfy
ourselves, then, not only of the honesty and disin¬
terestedness of our informant, but also of his ability
to understand the event he tells of, and his full
opportunity to know it thoroughly.

THE NARRATION.

Aside from the character of the witness, there is
another element of great importance to us in making
up our verdict of truth or falsity, viz., the character of
the thing witnessed. We believe something upon an

TESTIMONY.

151

amount and quality of evidence which would be totally
inadequate to convince us of the truth of other things,
bor example, I should require but the word of one
person, and that person need not be one of good char¬
acter for truthfulness, to make me believe that a
certain old, decrepit, sickly man that I knew, had died ;
because the thing is probable in itself ; I have long
been expecting such tidings. I should ask more reli¬
able testimony before yielding my belief to a report
that a young man, whom I saw but an hour ago, appar¬
ently in the full bloom of health and activity, had
suddenly dropped dead ; because such an event,
though not at all impossible, is unlooked for and
improbable. A very much higher — an extremely
high — degree of evidence would be necessary in order
to convince me that the Mississippi river had instan¬
taneously and without any warning risen many feet
and demolished the entire city of St. Louis ; because it
is not only quite out of the range of probabilities, but
I should think impossible, that any such thing should
take place. If a thing seems to us improbable, that is,
if we have never seen or heard of anything like it
before, we ought to be very cautious about accepting it
as true. At the same time, there is a possibility of
carrying our doubting too far. We should recognize
the fact that not everything is known to us ; that many
things which seem to us absolutely incredible, would, to
persons of more extended knowledge, be very simple
and plain. There is a frequently quoted story about a
Siamese king, who was told by a Dutchman, traveling

l52

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

in Siam, that in his country water frequently got so
solid that an elephant might walk on it. “ I have
believed,” said the king, “many extraordinary things
which you have told me, because I took you for a man
of truth and veracity, but now I am convinced that you
lie.” Had the king ever heard of ice, he would not
have been surprised at the travelers assertion. We
are all prone to fall into this fatal mistake of valuing
too highly the little knowledge and experience which
we happen to possess. When the King of Siam
rejected, as an incredible falsehood, the account of the
freezing of the water, if there had been at his court a
philosopher who had attended to the properties of
heat, he would have judged in a different manner,
though the actual fact of the freezing of water might
have been as new to him as it was to the king. He
would have recollected that he had seen various solid
bodies rendered fluid by the application of heat ; and
that upon the abstraction of the additional heat, they
again became solid. He would thus have argued the
possibility, that by a further abstraction of heat, bodies
might become solid which are fluid in the ordinary
warmth of climate in his own country. In this manner,
the fact, which was rejected by the king, judging from
his own experience, might have been received by the
philosopher, judging from his knowledge of the powers
and properties of heat — though he had acquired this
knowledge from events apparently far removed from
that to which he now applied it. This illustration
shows that a phenomenon may seemingly be opposed

TESTIMONY.

1 53

to everything that we have experienced, and yet be in
perfect accordance with natural laws which, were our
mental eyes keen enough, we could see at work
beneath the facts that we know.

A peculiar credit is commonly given to statements
made in books, off the platform, and in other public
ways ; why is this ? I suppose that the reason is
that a statement publicly made is more likely to meet
denial, if false, than one made in private. Hence, if no
denial is heard, it is concluded that there was room
for none, and full confidence is given. By taking into
consideration all the laws of belief above mentioned,
we may be able to grade pretty correctly the amount
of confidence which we are to place in any assertion,
from absolute, unquestioned belief, to the most decided
unbelief. The complete intellectual man will carefully
guard himself from a tendency to ignorant credulity
on the one hand and narrow-minded skepticism on
the other ; they are equally pernicious in their effects,
and alike betray an uncultivated mind.

DEDUCTIVE REASONING.

Deductive reasoning is the process of deducing
particular facts from general principles. Thus, it has
been found, by observation, that horned animals are
invariably cud-chewing animals. The cow, the sheep,
the goat, the deer, all chew their cuds. Now suppose
we should find an animal new to us, some kind of ante¬
lope for example. We see upon its forehead the horns
which we have learned to regard as a badge of most

1 54

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

ruminating animals, and we at once conclude that it,
too, is in the habit of chewing its cud. From the
general principle that all horned animals chew their
cuds, we have deduced the particular fact that this new
antelope, which has horns, chews its cud.

It will perhaps be both interesting and profitable to
give a few specimens of mistakes which are commonly
made in deductive reasoning. Here is a fallacy of that
class known as arguing in a circle. “ The Bible being
the word of God, must be true. The Bible declares
that there is a God, therefore God must exist.” That
argument (one commonly used by the by), if stated
in full, is something like this:

First step.

Second step.

r

\

v

<

The Bible is the word of God.

The word of God must be true.
Therefore the Bible must be true.
What the Bible says is true.

The Bible declares that God exists.
Therefore God exists.

Now the trouble with the argument is this. In the
first step we assume that there is a God and that what
He says must be true, and that the Bible is His word,
and from these three assumptions, none of which we
have any right to make, prove that the Bible is truth.
In the second step we start with the conclusion reached
in the first step, and prove from it that God exists.
That is, we prove the Bible by God, and then turn
around and prove God by the Bible.

The world within and around us swarms with evi¬
dences of the existence of God, but this is not one

DEDUCTIVE REASONING.

155

of them ; and it is unfortunate that some over-zealous
defenders of the faith have resorted to such fallacious
arguments as the above to prove what does not need
more proof. The keen eye of the skeptic detects
these falsities, and he proceeds in great glee to tear
them down, thinking that thereby he saps the found¬
ations of the building. Not so ; he has only torn away
the ugly scaffolding that had been put up by some
awkward workmen, and which obscured the view of
the mansion.

There is an anecdote of Charles II. and Milton,
which forms an excellent illustration of the fallacv

J

known by the logicians under the name of non causa
pro causa , that is, a fallacy which consists in the
assumption of one thing as the cause of another, when
perhaps it is not. Think you not, said the king, “ that
the crime which you committed against my father must
have been very great, seeing that Heaven has seen fit
to punish it by such a severe loss as that which you
have sustained?” (Milton had lost his sight as the
immediate result of intense labor on his “ Defense of
the English People for the Beheading of Charles I.”)
“Nay, sire,” Milton replied; “if my crime on that
accomit be adjudged great, how much greater must
have been the criminality of your father, seeing that I
have only lost my eyes, but he lost his head!” The
fault in the king’s argument of course lies in assuming
that Milton’s blindness was a punishment inflicted by
Heaven for the part he had taken in abetting the
execution of Charles I.

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

156

From the time of Aristotle down almost to the
present time, Deductive reasoning has held the post
of honor. This it has not deserved. Though very
curious and very useful in many ways, in its two thou¬
sand years of life it has not done half as much for the
advancement of mankind as its young rival, Inductive
reasoning, has within the last two hundred. Its princi¬
pal use now is as a supplement and corrective of the
inductive method. It has sometimes been claimed that
deduction never originated anything, and is therefore
useless. I cannot go quite so far as that, however. If
it has not absolutely created new ideas, it is constantly
bringing out into relief those which, though contained
in others, were invisible. Besides, it acts as a powerful
corrective of induction and analogy in the wild flights
which they sometimes take. I will close this subject
with the following fine eulogy and illustration from Dr.
Brown. “ The truths at which we arrive by repeated
intellectual analysis, may be said to resemble the pre¬
mature plant which is to be found inclosed in that
which is itself inclosed in the bulb, or seed, which we
dissect. 'We must carry on our dissection more and
more minutely to arrive at each new germ ; but we do
arrive at one after the other, and when our dissection is
obliged to stop, we have reason to suppose that still
finer instruments, and still finer eyes, might prosecute
the discovery almost to infinity. It is the same in the
discovery of the truths of reasoning. The stage at
which one inquirer stops is not the limit of analysis in
reference to the object, but the limit of the analytic

DEDUCTIVE REASONING.

157

power of the individual. Inquirer after inquirer dis¬
covers truths which were involved in truths formerly
admitted by us, without our being able to perceive what
was comprised in our admission. There may be races
of beings, at least we can conceive of a race of beings,
whose senses would enable them to perceive the ulti¬
mate embryo plant inclosed in its innumerable series of
preceding germs ; and there may, perhaps, be created
powers of some higher order, as we know that there is
one Eternal Power, able to feel, in a single comprehen¬
sive thought, all those truths, of which the generations
of mankind are able, by successive steps, to discover
only a few that are, perhaps, to the great truths which
they contain, only as the flower, which is blossoming
before us, is to that infinity of future blossoms envel¬
oped in it, with which, in ever renovated beauty, it is to
adorn the summers of other ages.”

Besides deductive, there is, under the head of prob¬
able reasoning, both inductive reasoning and reasoning
from analogy.

INDUCTIVE REASONING.

The word inductive means bringing in, while deduct¬
ive means leading out. We have seen how deduction
gets a single fact out of a general rule ; we will now find
how induction brings single facts into a general rule.
Inductive reasoning is the name which the logicians
give to all reasoning from experience, from the particu¬
lar to the general, from fact to principle. Thus, to
vary an example used a page or two back: We know

158 THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

that the cow chews its cud ; the deer does the same ;
and the sheep, the goat, the antelope, the buffalo, in
all their varieties. Reasoning from these particular
facts which are known from experience, we conclude
that it is a general rule that all animals which have
horns on their foreheads are cud-chewing animals. The
corner stone of this vast system of inductive reasoning
is the belief which we all have, that Nature is uniform
in all her workings — that the same cause will under
the same circumstances, invariably produce the same
results. We all believe that, and cannot avoid believ¬
ing it. Whether this confidence in Nature’s sameness
is intuitive, planted in our breasts at birth, or only
acquired by experience, has already been discussed
(See Intuition, page 73). Applying this, we put
together all the facts we know of a certain kind and
draw therefrom a principle, or, if you please, a general
fact. For instance, Mr. Jones, and Mr. Smith, and Mr.
Brown, and Mr. Thompson, all of whom I knew, have
died. So have Caesar, and Napoleon, and Richard, and
Alexander, and hundreds of others of whom I have
heard. I never heard of anybody who lived more than
nine hundred and sixty-nine years, and of but very few
who lived more than one hundred years. Hence, I
conclude: 1. That all men are sure to die at some
time or other ; and 2. That they will probably die
before reaching the age of one hundred years. All the
experimental sciences — and pretty much all science is,
or ought to be, at least, experimental — are principally
based upon this kind of reasoning.

INDUCTIVE REASONING.

*59

We justly place much reliance upon conclusions
reached in this way ; and yet they are very liable to be
fallacious. We are likely to reason with an insufficient
foundation of facts and experience, and thus arrive at
false results. The incident of the Siamese King and
the traveler mentioned above, is a case in point.

Suppose that there was a man who had traveled all
over Europe and North America, but knew nothing of
the countries south of the Equator. Somebody tells
him that there is a land where at noon you must look
in the north to see the sun. He would probably say,
“ I have seen a great many countries; in them the sun
was always in the south at noon. Nature is uniform,
therefore there is no country which has the sun in
the north at noon.” The argument is wrong, simply
because the man’s experience was not broad enough to
justify his assumptions.

Mr. Haven puts the case of a native of Central
Africa who had never seen or heard of any other
than black men. He might reason in some such
way as this : I have seen many hundreds of men ;
they were all black ; nature is uniform, therefore all
men are black. This conclusion is, of course, untrue,
yet the reasoning is sound, so far as the African’s
knowledge extends. That is the danger we are all
in — of thinking that we have enough of knowledge
upon which to build a course of reasoning, when in
reality we have not.

But due caution being exercised, there is no other
system of thought which has done so much good in

i6o

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

the past, or is calculated to do so much good in the
future, as this of induction. Before it came into gen¬
eral use among learned men, science was a myth.

Scholars were engaged in searching after the philoso-

✓

pliers stone to convert the baser metals into gold, or
in predicting the fates of men by means of the planets,
or, at best, they occupied themselves with fruitless
quibbles over insignificant points of philosophy. They
were arguing as to whether matter really existed at
all, when they might much better have taken its exist¬
ence for granted, and tried to find out its properties,
in order that they might subject it to the uses of
civilized man. But during the last two centuries, under
the benign influence of inductive reasoning, Europe
and America have become one vast laboratory, wherein
the Watts, Cartwrights, Fultons, Whitneys, Morses,
Howes and Edisons have labored, experimenting,
thinking, and finally sending forth inventions which
have revolutionized the commercial and domestic life
of the world. Our houses are more convenient ; our
streets are better lighted ; our mails come sooner ; five
hundred miles now are less than fifty miles a few
years ago ; our grain is cut and threshed, and our
clothes made, by machinery. For all these blessings,
and hundreds more, we have to thank experiment
and inductive reasoning.

REASONING FROM ANALOGY.

Analogy is a word which has several meanings, one
of the most common of which is simple likeness or sim-

REASONING FROM ANALOGY. l6l

ilarity. Reasoning from analogy is reasoning from
similarity, or resemblance. It is somewhat like the
process of induction, but is, in general, less accurate
and certain. It forms, however, a very valuable adjunct
in the investigation of any subject. It is often the
starting-point of those “ lucky guesses” which have
played so important a part in the scientific world.

Here is an example of reasoning by analogy as
applied to the science of astronomy. The planet Mars
is of much the same shape as the planet Earth. Its
seasons are of about the same proportionate length as
those of Earth. It apparently has land and water,
and an atmosphere. In all these respects it is like
Earth ; probably it may be like her in the further
particular of being inhabited by beings like us.

If analogical reasoning is often the source of great
good, it is also often the origin of great evil. Suppose
that there is in a prison a convict having black hair,
dark eyes, a Roman nose, long fingers, and thin body.
Another person possessing the same general features is
seen, and we say this man is like the convict, in that he
had black hair, black eyes, Roman nose and thin body ;
probably he is like the convict also in that he will steal.
This line of argument appears somewhat ridiculous
when written out in full ; and yet, it is precisely the
process to which we subject every new acquaintance.
We often determine the reception of a stranger upon
grounds quite as inadequate as the above. We should
exercise great caution in the use of these species of

argument.

ll

162

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

Analogical reasoning is generally only probable, but
it may become almost certain. The rule of probability
may be roughly stated thus : The more points of
known resemblance there are, the greater will be the
probability that there is resemblance in some other
respect. If the two objects are known to be alike in
eight particulars and unlike in one, the chances are
eight to one that they will be found to resemble each
other in some other point. On the other hand, if there
is but one point of resemblance to five points of non¬
resemblance, the chances are five to one against
similarity in any given point as yet undecided.

Cultivation of Reflection.

Since the thinking power is one of such wonderful,
untold and unmeasured importance, a person would
suppose that all men would be anxious to cultivate and
improve it in themselves ; and yet, to use the words
of Carlyle, “not one in the thousand has the smallest
turn for thinking ; only for passive dreaming and hear-
saying, and active babbling by rote. Of the eyes that
men do glare withal, so few can see.”

While there are, of course, differences in the natural
abilities of persons in this respect as in all others, it
is believed that but very few people are put into this
world without a capability for thought which, if prop¬
erly trained, would make them powerful men and
women. A skillful gardener can make an abundant

CULTIVATION OF REFLECTION. 1 63

livelihood off two or three acres of ground — a better
living than many a shiftless farmer gets from a hundred
acres. “ A little farm well tilled” is far preferable to
a large one poorly tilled. A mind of little natural
strength, if cultivated and pushed to the utmost limits
of its capacity, is a greater power in the world than
a mind of much natural force which is allowed to
run wild without training or direction. The princi¬
pal defect in the early steam engines was not that
enough steam could not be generated, but that about
three fourths of what was generated was wasted. A
very small modern engine, utilizing all its steam, would
evidently do more work than one of the old ones which
was much larger, but could not apply more than one
fourth of its steam to the driving of machinery. Let .
no one be discouraged, then, because Mother Nature
seems to have been somewhat niggardly in dealing
with him ; let him rather try to overcome all diffi¬
culties, and he will come out the stronger for the
effort. Such difficulties can be overcome, provided
only that energy be not lacking. I once knew a
young man who, when a child, had fallen into a
boiling caldron of some substance which destroyed
both hands, taking them off just above the fingers,
and had removed one foot at the instep ; yet he was
a fine writer. He was a teacher of penmanship, and
an excellent croquet and ball player, holding the pen,
mallet, or bat, and catching the ball with his wrists
more skillfully than most persons can do with their
hands. The same persistent effort that overcame these

164 THE reflective power.

obstacles would have been sufficient to counterbalance
great natural disadvantages.

HOW TO IMPROVE THE POWER OF THOUGHT.

Use your faculties of observation. Keep your eyes
and ears open. Pay close attention to whatever comes
before you. If you are on a journey, see everything;
and not only see it, but see it accurately. If you are
reading a book, do not merely run over the pages in a
mechanical way, but read carefully, dwelling on every
sentence until you are sure you know all that it con¬
tains, and understand it, for, as a great thinker has
said, “one does not possess what he does not under¬
stand.’’ Associate. as much as you well can with those
who are wiser than yourself, and gather all the informa¬
tion you can from their conversation. Thus you may
get knowledge, a large store of facts upon which to
build your reasoning ; and thus you may also get some¬
thing else of even greater value than the knowledge, —
right intellectual habits.

Trace the relationships existing among the facts
you have learned. Here is something: it must have
had a cause. Find out what that cause was and in
what way it must have operated to produce the effect
before you Follow out the resemblances and differ¬
ences between this fact and others. All this is an
exercise of reason, and this power, like all others, is
strengthened by exercise.

Accustom yourself to examine into statements and
arguments made in your hearing. It is not meant that

CULTIVATION OF REFLECTION 1 65

you shall go so far as to believe nothing without first
investigating for yourself, but make a practice of scan¬
ning things closely, and following lines of argument
critically, not only the arguments of others, but your
own as well. When a doctrine or a plan is suggested,
try to follow it out to the end and picture to yourself
what would be the result of it if put into practice.

The examples following will show to what extent
the thinking power can be trained, even when a person
has not the advantages of books and learned com¬
panions.

Owing partly to his organization, doubtless, as well
as to his mode of living, from his childhood up, the
senses of the Indian are extremely acute. It is related,
in modern times, that a hunter, belonging to one of the
western tribes, on his return home to his hut, one day,
discovered that his venison, which had been hung up to
dry, had been stolen. After taking observations on the
spot, he set off in pursuit of the thief, whom he tracked
through the woods. Having gone a little distance, he
met some persons of whom he inquired whether they
had seen a little old white man with a short gun,
accompanied by a small dog with a short tail. They
replied in the affirmative; and upon the Indian assuring
them that the man thus described had stolen his
venison, they desired to be informed how he was able
to give such a minute description of a person he had
never seen. The Indian replied thus: “The thief I
know is a little man, by his having made a pile of
stones to stand upon, in order to reach the venison

1 66 THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

from the height I hung it standing on the ground;
that he is an old man, I know by his short steps, which
I have traced over the dead leaves in the woods ; that
he is a white man, I know by his turning out his toes
when he walks, which an Indian never does. His gun
I know to be short, by the mark the muzzle made in
rubbing the bark of the tree where it leaned ; that his
dog is small, I know by his tracks ; and that he has a
short tail, I discovered by the mark it made in the dust,
where he was sitting at the time his master was taking
down the meat.” Another story of the same sort,

4-

which illustrates the wonderful acuteness which a man’s
powers of observation and reasoning may attain, is the
following: “A dervis was journeying alone in the
desert, when two merchants suddenly met him. ‘You
have lost a camel,’ said he to the merchants. ‘Indeed,
we have,’ they replied. ‘Was he not blind in his right
eye, and lame in his left leg?’ said the dervis. ‘He
was,’ replied the merchants. ‘ Had he lost a front
tooth?’ said the dervis. ‘He had,’ rejoined the mer¬
chants. ‘ And was he not loaded with honey on one
side, and wheat on the other?’ ‘Most certainly he
was,’ they replied; ‘and as you have seen him so lately,
and marked him so particularly, you can, in all prob¬
ability, conduct us to him.’ ‘My friends,’ said the
dervis ; ‘ I have never seen your camel, nor even heard
of him, but from yourselves.’ ‘A pretty story, truly!’
said the merchants; ‘but where are the jewels which
formed a part of his cargo?’ ‘I have neither seen
your camel nor your jewels,’ repeated the dervis. On

CULTIVATION OF REFLECTION. 1 67

this, they seized his person and forthwith hurried him
before the Cadi, where, on the strictest search, nothing
could be found upon him, nor could any evidence what¬
ever be adduced to convict him either of falsehood or
of theft. They were then about to proceed against him
as a wizard, when the dervis, with great calmness,
thus addressed the court ; ‘ I have been much amused
with your surprise, and own that there has been some
ground for your suspicions ; but I have lived long and
alone, and I can find ample scope for observation, even
in a desert. I knew that I had crossed the track of
a camel that had strayed from its owner, because
I saw no marks of any human footsteps on the same
route ; I knew that the animal was blind in one eye,
because it had cropped the herbage only on one side
of its path ; and I perceived that it was lame in one
leg, from the faint impression that particular foot had
produced upon the sand. I concluded that the animal
had lost one tooth, because, wherever it had grazed, a
small tuft of herbage was left uninjured, in the center
of its bite. As to that which formed the burden of the
beast, the busy ants informed me that it was corn on
the one side, and the clustering flies, that it was honey
on the other.’”

It is known to almost every one that Sir Isaac
Newton was led to the discovery of the great laws
of gravitation, which holds things to the earth and
keeps earth, moon, stars, and all other parts of the
universe, in their proper places, by the very simple
occurrence of an apple falling to the ground. Thou-

1 68

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

sands of people had seen that before, but had not
regarded it as a thing worth noticing. Newton thought
about it, and the result the world knows.

The following account of the invention of the power-
loom is from Knight’s History of England: ‘‘Edmund
Cartwright, a clergyman, bred at University College,
Oxford, a poet and critic, was at Matlock in 1 784,
when, in a mixed company in which were some per¬
sons from Manchester, the talk was about cotton —
how the want of hands to weave would operate
against the spinning mills. Cartwright knew nothing
of machines or manufacture ; he had never even
seen a weaver at work, but he said that if it came
to a want of hands, Arkwright* must invent a weav¬
ing mill. The Manchester man maintained that such
a notion was impracticable. Cartwright went home,
and, turning his thoughts from weaving reading mat¬
ter for the magazine, the ‘ Monthly Review,’ labored
assiduously to produce a loom that would weave cloth,
without hands to throw the shuttle. His children
remember him as walking about as if in deep medi¬
tation, occasionally throwing his arms from side to
side, and they were told that their father was think¬
ing of the action of the shuttle. Such has been the
progress of an idea casually impressed upon the active
mind of a scholar who was previously conscious of
no aptitude for mechanical pursuits.” The invention

of the cotton gin by Eli Whitney was made under

/

* Arkwright was a barber by trade, who had lately made some great
improvements in spinning.

/

CULTIVATION OF REFLECTION.

169

similar circumstances. James Watts, whose improve¬
ments in the engine completely revolutionized the
use of steam as a motive power, “solved the prob¬
lem upon which he had been long intent ” during a
solitary walk.

SOME NOTABLE INVENTORS.

Elias Howe, inventor of the sewing machine, was
one of a family of eight children, and was put to work
by his father at a very early age. For a number of
years he worked as a mechanic in various establish¬
ments, until finally, when he was not yet twenty-five,
his health broke down, and he was compelled to aban¬
don work. By this time he was married and had a
family of three children dependent upon his exertions
for bread. About this period the need began to be felt
of a machine that would make quicker and easier the
slow, wearisome process of sewing. Howe began to
reflect upon the problem, and in July, 1845, had so
far perfected the machine that he was able to make two
suits of clothes with it He was at that time twenty-
six years old. The sequel to this story is a sad one.
Being unable to persuade any one in America to adopt
the machine, he finally went to England on an engage¬
ment at fifteen dollars per week. The exactions of his
employer being too severe, Howe sent his family back
to his father in America, while he remained in England
to seek work. Not finding it, he pawned his machine
and letters patent for money to pay his fare across the
ocean, and started home. On landing, he learned that

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

I 70

his wife was dying of consumption, and as he could not
walk so far — from New York to Cambridge, Massa¬
chusetts — he was compelled to wait for a remittance
of money from home, where he arrived just in time to
witness her death. Meanwhile, other men had been
making sewing machines slightly different from his, and
he had thus become famous. Help was procured, and
he instituted suits for infringement of patent, which
were successful, and a brighter day dawned. He died
wealthy, after a life of very great hardship, aged forty-
eight.

George Stephenson, inventor of the locomotive
engine, was born in England in 1787. His parents
were in the poorest circumstances, his father being a
fireman with wages amounting to three dollars per
week, and having a wife and six children to support.
George was put to work as soon as he could do any¬
thing, making first five cents a day, then fifty cents a
week, and at the age of sixteen getting three dollars a
week, the same as his father. At the age of eighteen,
he commenced to attend night school, and made good
progress. Meanwhile, he spent all his spare time
during the day in studying the engine with which he
worked, taking it to pieces and learning all he could
about its parts. As a result of his study, he was
rapidly promoted from one position to another, and
won the complete confidence of his employer, Lord
Ravensworth. He further exercised his skill in
mechanics by repairing the clocks of the neighborhood.
I have called Stephenson the inventor of the locomo-

CULTIVATION OF REFLECTION. IJI

tive : he was not really the inventor, for it was already
In existence, but he was the first to make it of practical
utility. Having told his employer that he thought he
could make a locomotive which could be profitably
used instead of horses, he was furnished with money
and set to work on the problem. In a short time —
1814, he commenced in 1813 — he completed an engine
which would draw eight loaded carriages of thirty tons
each, at the rate of four miles an hour. In 1825 the
first public railway was opened and Stephenson drove
an engine on it that drew ninety tons at a little
more than eight miles an hour. In 1830 he had made
an engine called the “ Rocket,” which ran thirty miles
an hour. If my memory serves me well, this “ Rocket”
was one of the leading curiosities of the great railway
exposition held in Chicago in the summer of 1883.
He now established at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, a large
factory for the construction of engines. He died in
1848, leaving a large fortune, the result of a strong
combination of industry and intelligence. His son,
Robert, also won great renown as an engineer, having
built a number of railroads and celebrated bridges.

A name which is almost as familiar as W ashington’s
is that of Thomas A. Edison, the great inventor — the
greatest, probably, that ever lived. But as he is still
young, and has only become famous within the past
few* years, comparatively little information concerning
his life is accessible to the general public. He was born
in 1847, *n the state of New York, and removed with
his parents to Michigan when but a small boy. When

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

I 72

he was about eight or nine years of age he commenced
his career as newsboy, and at the age of twelve he
obtained exclusive right to sell newspapers on a certain
division of the Grand Trunk railway. While thus,
engaged, he procured the necessary outfit of press,
type, etc., and establishing an office in the corner of
the car, published “The Grand Trunk Herald,” a vent-=
ure which was quite successful. Tiring of this, he
exchanged his printing materials for a chemical appa¬
ratus, performing experiments at leisure moments on
the train. But an accident occurring by which the car
caught fire, he was compelled to desist from his scien¬
tific pursuits. When the war began, 1861, he displayed
his enterprise by telegraphing the news ahead, and
having it placed on bulletin boards, thus arousing the
curiosity of the people and making larger sales of his
papers. His next step was to become a telegraph
operator, and he was soon acknowledged to be one of
the most expert men in the service. He was rapidly
promoted, going from Port Huron, Michigan, to Indian¬
apolis, and thence to Cincinnati, Louisville, Memphis,
and Boston, successively. During the years that he
spent as operator, he was constantly experimenting and
thinking out new devices for the use of telegraphers.
In 1869, being then only twenty-two years old, he went
to New York, taking a number of inventions with him.
Since that time he has given his attention entirely to
the discovery of appliances for the convenience of
mankind. Up to 1878, nearly one hundred and fifty
patents had been issued to him for improvements in

CULTIVATION OF REFLECTION. I 73

telegraphic instruments. In addition he has invented
the telephone, electric light, phonograph, electric pen,
etc. He is also working at an electric locomotive, and
it seems probable that at no very distant day, we shall
be able to seat ourselves in one of Pullman’s elegant
palace cars, and be whirled off through the country at
the rate of sixty or eighty miles an hour, without
smoke, cinders, dust, or jar, and with comparatively
little danger, a very paradise of travel. Edison lives
in a beautiful home at Menlo Park, New Jersey (forty
minutes’ ride from New York city), where he has a
large laboratory, fully furnished for experiment. Here
he spends his time in study, working often until very
late in the night. He is now only thirty-six years of
age, and with his wonderful energy and genius, his
great knowledge of electrical phenomena, and his,
almost unbounded facilities for work, we may reason¬
ably hope that he will accomplish in the future yet
more than he has already achieved.

Other celebrated inventors are Goodyear, of vul¬
canized indian-rubber fame; McCormick, of thp grain-
reapers ; Morse, of the telegraph ; Fulton, of the
steamboat ; Arkwright, of the spinning-jenny ; Davy,
of the safety-lamp ; Gutenberg, of the art of print¬
ing, and so many others that it would be useless to
name any more. Among the great philosophical
thinkers have been Aristotle and Plato, of Greece ;
Descartes, Cousin, Comte, Pascal and Condillac, of
France; Kant, Hegel, Fichte, Feibnitz and Schelling,
of Germany; Bacon, Focke, Hamilton, Hobbes, Stew-

174

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

art, Spencer, Mill and Berkeley, of Great Britain.
Among the more recent scientists are Darwin, Huxley,,
Tyndall, Agassiz, Humboldt and Haeckel; all of them
mighty in the realm of reason.

It is not to be supposed, however, that the chief use

/

of a cultivated reflective power is to make people great
or noted in the line of science or learning. One of
the finest examples of the clear, decisive and masterly
force of a close thinking mind is seen in the life of
Florence Nightingale. Her fame rests mainly on her
heroic labors as a nurse when the British army was
in the direst need of such service, and while it shows
the supremacy of sympathy, the part played by her
mental ability is certainly none the less evident, for
it was the latter that made her success possible. Born
in 1823, the daughter of William Shore Nightingale,
of Embly Park, Hampshire, and Leigh Hurst, Derby¬
shire, England, her early life was spent as is common
to one in her position. While yet a child her whole
being seemed moved by a very warm interest in the
welfare of others ; and the poor, the sick, the dis¬
tressed, if found in her fathers neighborhood, were
sure of aid and kindness from the hands of the
young English maiden. All the lessons, tasks and
studies of her early life were interspersed with these
kindly undertakings and acts of sympathy. She was
a close, careful, thinking student, and became highly
educated and brilliantly accomplished.

When the army in the Crimean war was almost
overwhelmed with disaster and sickness, and the call

FLO iEM € E M 1 © H T 0 U © A LE .

*

CULTIVATION OF REFLECTION.* I 75

came to England for especial help to care for the
sick and wounded soldiers, Miss Nightingale offered
to go and organize a nursing department. She left
her comfortable home to brave the dangers and hard¬
ships that were terrifying to the stoutest hearts, and
with a company of chosen assistants was soon brought
to the scenes of suffering and death. Here the training
of her thinking powers showed itself. Her ready mind
was able to grasp the entire situation of things ; the
needs, the dangers, the resources. Her sharp system¬
atic thought mastered each emergency ; and, though
finally prostrated with fever, the result of her extreme
exertions, she refused to leave her post. Hundreds
of soldiers lived to bless her labors.

xAiter her return to England she put her wide and
valuable experience into well-written books upon the
various branches of the art of nursing the sick. She
made lengthy, careful and thorough examinations of
military reports upon the health of soldiers, and all
her writings were received with high credit. Of one
of her productions an excellent English authority says:
“The facts are brought together in an order, and with
an incisive force of statement, which render it one
of the most remarkable public papers ever penned.”
There are few brighter names in all history than that
of Florence Nightingale.

THE USE OF THINKING.

The importance of a trained ability to think has
already appeared, but it can scarcely be dwelt upon

176 THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

/

too much. We are constantly pressed to pass judg¬
ment upon questions of importance. Political leaders
present, with overpowering earnestness, their views and
the claims of their parties for our belief and our follow¬
ing. Are they truthful, wise and just ? Our moral
teachers, our lecturers, our writers of papers and books,
are showering doctrines upon us in every conceivable
shape. Do these teachings harmonize with all the
known facts interested ? Does any one of them fail
to be true to itself all the way through ? Does any
one of them embody doubtful things and call them
truths, or from plain facts do they come by fair rea¬
soning to truthful and just conclusions? Do we
ourselves know enough, and are our minds well
enough trained, to judge of any or all of these things
and pass a safe opinion upon them ?

And in the daily business of mankind, if it were
asked what is the most proper mental occupation of
man, as a man, what would be the answer ? The states¬
man is engaged with political affairs ; the artisan with
his own tasks ; the inventor with his problems ; the stu¬
dent with his books ; the merchant with trading con¬
cerns ; but in what are they all engaged ? What is it
that each and every one must do ? Evidently, he must
reason, he must think ; and he who thinks most, thinks
clearest, is best able to act wisely and forcibly.

And last, and most important, is the moral or
spiritual effect of proper habits of thinking. We have
seen that the mind, through the Presentative powers,
Intuition, and the five senses, is constantly seeing and

THE USE OF THINKING.

I 77

knowing things. T he Representative powers, memory
and imagination, are always keeping these things
before us, and this constitutes a constant stream of
thought. Shall the current of this stream be
unguarded ? Shall it flow where it may chance, over
the nearest declivity, through low muddy fields it may
be, and stony places? If so, we should remember that,
in the world around us we must deal with the gross
things of common sight, touch, taste, the senses, and
they will shape our thoughts by chance, and at first
hand ; we shall seldom catch intuitive glimpses of the
unseen, our spiritual natures will be dwarfed and
slighted, and our whole lives will tend toward a state
but little above that of animals ; we shall become
coarse, selfish, low. How vastly much better to turn
this stream of our thoughts into an even channel, thus
purifying its current, lending branches to wise uses,
confining its volume to secure weight and force when
most needed, and leading it through flowery valleys
and fair regions.

Thus may we be able to choose our thoughts, to
mould, in a measure, the circumstances around us
instead of allowing circumstances to mould us ; and
herein lies our ability to grow spiritually, to build good
moral character and habits. “ I believe,” says an Eng¬
lish author, “ that the habit of thinking is the great
demand of the age, and that in this direction must our
present civilization take its next upward step.” At
present, what use is generally made of the forces

needed in youth for building up the man? When,
12

i78

THE REFLECTIVE TOWER.

as the years of maturity approach, and Nature, like
a good gardener, prunes off some limbs of the tree
of being that the budding energies may go to the fruit¬
bearing branches, what does man do? He promptly
cuts off these branches too, and engrafts thereon
pursuits of wealth, or fame, or fashion, or a sensuous
phantom which fools call pleasure. He seems to think
of his higher faculties as the miser thinks of his money ;
if he can only possess them, that is sufficient, and as to
any further use or improvement of them, to-morrow
will always be time enough. But simple possession
is not enough. No good thing that we have is in
any way really noble, or grand, or good, except by
virtue of a noble, grand, or good use. As the world
now goes, how many people are there whose mental
ability is not just as great at thirty or thirty-five years
of age as at any time thereafter? The influences that
should feed the mind are turned elsewhere, or dried up
altogether, yet the very man who desires no higher aim
than mere money-making could make more speed by
hastening slowly enough to carefully improve his own
reasoning powers. In not doing so he is about as wise
as the man who, having much traveling to do, prefers
to run on his way afoot rather than train his idle horse
to the saddle. A separate chapter will be devoted at
this point to an examination of natural methods of
reflection, or in other words, “ How to think.”

OF

HOW TO THINK.

HAVE often noticed,” says one
writer, “the process in my own
mind, when, in starting out upon
a journey, I have set myself to
watch only what I might see, or
what might happen upon the way ;
not allowing myself to recall past experi¬
ences at all. For some time at first I
can do nothing more than take notice of
bare facts ; as, there is a house, there a
man, there a tree, such a speech is uttered,
such an incident happens, etc. But after
some time a larger machinery begins to
wrork ; I feel more than a simple perception of objects
and incidents ; they become surrounded with an atmos¬
phere, and shed forth a light. They come in company
with trains of images, moral likenesses, and a widely
diffused, lively, and not easily defined kind of senti¬
ment. Generally, if one can compel the mind to the

179

l8o THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

task of the first part of the process, interesting results
will soon follow.” And the writer adds: “A few hours
passed in this occupation, which presents the world
like a new vision all around, makes one ashamed of
so many hundred days spent without observation or
fruitful thought.”

It is apparent that, first of all, the mind must have
things to think about. In the earliest hours of life the
child begins to use its five senses : it sees, hears,
touches, smells, tastes. With a never-satisfied curiosity
it gathers up a wide knowledge of every day experi¬
ences. Little by little the young mind learns to put
the facts of yesterday with the facts of to-day, of last
month with the facts of last week, and form opinions of
its own from the combinations. This is thought. In
the child the direction these thoughts take from hour
to hour, from day to day, is decided by chance, or the
child’s instructor. In the man or woman it must be a
matter of personal choice, or be left to idle circum¬
stances. But in the mind, well trained and well gov¬
erned, it is the real and truthful relations of things, and
not their accidental connections, that bring them for¬
ward and decide whether they shall remain as objects
of thought or be speedily dismissed from the mind’s
attention.

In the free thinking of children there is little or no
task-work, and the natural forces of the body expend
themselves in building up the body and gathering a
wide range of facts. The world is new to the young,
and they drink in every new scene with fresh pleasure.

HOW TO THINK.

\

1 8 1

But as maturity comes on, we lose some of our interest
in the search for a round of new scenes, the body is
perfected, and the life forces should now go to the
serious business of mind-building. As the child had
first to crawl and then be led along the beaten paths
before it could boldly go forth alone, we will not
despise the simpler methods of gaining this ability to
think, to reason.

First Method. — At first we must walk in the
paths already beaten ; our minds being led on by the
minds of others, and we thinking the thoughts of
others. A man might be aided here by a skillful
teacher, but I have yet to see a skillful teacher in this
prime art. The best plan, of which all may avail them¬
selves, is that of proper reading ; not reading as it is
usually done, but as shall now be described. For this
purpose something should be chosen that discusses a
question, giving reasons one way and another, and at
last making some decision upon the question argued.
Very few historical works, biographies, or novels, are
written in a style to be of much use in this. School
text-books on the sciences, especially natural philos¬
ophy or mathematics, would be much better ; and the
printed arguments of lawyers upon any simple or well
known case in the courts might also prove good. In
short, any reading that is frequently suggesting whys
and wherefores is the kind needed, provided only, that
at least half of it is readily understood at the first read¬
ing. Good newspapers are seldom without an article

or two in each issue, of this nature, and the sections in

«

i

/

182

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

this book on first questions in the Intellect, on the Will,
on the origin of duty, and many other passages are
suitable for this use. Now, when ready to read, a
large share of the whole secret, the concentrated advice
of many pages, the wisdom of all experience in this
matter, may be told in two short words : read slowly.
Read slowly, pausing at the end of every sentence and
going back and thinking; it over. Do not leave it till
you fully understand it, know why it was said, and, if
possible, think of some different way of saying the same
thing. Put your mind into full harmony with the
author, try to feel as he felt, and think as he thought.
You must forget the things around you, and if neces¬
sary to do this, find some secluded spot free from
distracting sounds and intrusions.

Second Method. — A good device for holding the
attention when inclined to stray off to other thoughts,
is to measure each sentence with the breathing ; delay
each breath to complete one sentence, or if the sentence
be a long one, give one breath to each member of it.
If you read the sentence more than once, measure it
each time the same. At the end, recollect yourself for
the next. There is no reader who has not felt a sort of
laziness or lack of attention beginning to creep over
him after reading a short distance — sooner or later —
in any sermon, or treatise, or history, or anything in
fact, that requires more attention than a pun in a comic
almanac, or a mere notice in a newspaper.

This is so because our attention or force of mind is
let out and diffused all at once, and consequently is

HOW TO THINK.

i83

soon exhausted ; whereas it should be taken by turns, by
pieces, by stroke and recoil. The ancient Egyptians
chose the serpent as the symbol of mental action
because every forward movement of the serpent con¬
sisted as well in framing itself for another forward
movement. A better example is that of the main¬
spring of a watch, whose force is cut off and expended
in regular portions by the balance-wheel. In the mind,
the main-spring is the Will-power which has sent us to
our studies ; and we need a balance-wheel to save that
force from being too soon expended. Measuring sen¬
tences with the breath can very often have this desired
effect. A person breathless from haste, or eagerness,
or shivering with the cold, cannot attend closely to any
question till quieted ; for when we are deep in thought
the breathing is always naturally slow and regular.
And such is the wonderful inter-sympathy of all parts
of our nature, that by throwing our bodies into the con¬
dition of a thinking person we closely court a flow of
thought. Another example of this fact is seen in the
drill that elocutionists sometimes give their pupils. A
musical scale is written out, with notes so arranged
as to imitate a person’s voice in hearty laughter. The
syllables, ha, ha, ha, are placed with the notes, and the
class is asked to sing them. It seems simple, almost
silly, at first, but as the sounds come on in the most
natural and life-like succession, a feeling precisely like
that which, when we really see something laughable,
takes possession of the pupil’s mind. Thus the action
continued, begets the same feeling which, if the feeling

184

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

came first, would have produced that action. This
method of leading the untrained mind into fruitful
thought is therefore a natural and a most excellent one
when persevered in as it should be. Lord Brougham
says : “ By dispatching every sentence in its own breath,
I kept the force of my attention always in reserve,
saving it by thus giving it out ratably and at intervals
instead of allowing it to run out loosely and at random,
thus to lose itself in expansion. As I went on thus, my
perceptions became clearer, my mastery of the subject
more powerful, and my interest in it more and more
animated.”

Third Method. — After you have read some dis¬
tance, and have begun to see the general direction
toward which the writer seems to be aiming, it is
an excellent practice, if the nature of the subject
will allow, to stop and guess what he will have to
say further, and to what end he will bring his piece.
After having fully concluded how you would finish
it were you the author, complete the reading and
see how far you differed from him. This is not an
easy task, however, and is one well worthy of think¬
ers already skillful. It is well adapted to all classes

of mechanical laborers whose employments will allow

/

them to think of things other than those with which
their hands are busy. By far the larger portion of
the human race have the necessities of labor so con¬
stantly upon them that they can have but little time
for careful reading. But there are many moments
during each day when the mind can readily and most

HOW TO THINK.

185

happily turn to some subject of previous thought, some
question not yet decided. Having perused a little, if
only a few sentences, let the reader, during the hours
that elapse before further reading is possible, confine
himself to turning over and over again in his mind
the things read, thinking of every meaning they might
have, and guessing upon what will come next.

Fourth Method. — It is the habit of the good
student to read a few sentences, and if the whole
meaning is not entirely clear, to stop, turn away from
the printed page and think it out. His eyes wear
a vacant look, while his mind is busy with the mean¬
ing of the doubtful passage. This habit of thought
is one of the most common and useful, and is devel¬
oped in the pupils of good schools by such studies
as mental arithmetic and grammar analysis. These
studies, in the hand of a skillful teacher, always
become popular with the scholars, because correct,
truthful, consistent mental exercise is a genuine
pleasure ; we naturally enjoy it as much as the child
loves to chase over the play-ground till his cheeks
tingle with blood, or the industrious farmer enjoys
his vigorous bodily labors. This habit of reading
only a sentence or two, or but very short passages,
and then thinking them over, first imagining your¬
self in the place of the author and thinking up to
the passage and through it with him : and second,
turning the passage over in the mind after it is
vinderstood, and thinking all around it, form two of
the most needful of all the early steps in the art of

i86

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

reasoning. Elihu Burritt, the learned blacksmith,
began with a book propped open where he could
read a sentence or two as he blew his bellows, and
the other branches of his work compelled him to
give time for thought upon what he read. No
doubt Burritt often bewailed the poverty which
seemed to so greatly delay his progress in learning ;
but had he been a man of wealth or leisure, with
the same desire for knowledge, he would have been
in danger of doing as many others unwittingly do :
to read several chapters at the start, skipping over
paragraphs not well understood, expecting the next
page to make all plain. Thus he would shortly have
lost all track of what the writer wished to say, and
would also have fully tired himself out before he quit,
feeling proud of staying so long at his book. A few
days or weeks of such practice would surely have dis¬
gusted the ambitious student, and he would have
turned his mind to something else with but very
few new ideas, and no consistent habits of thinking
whatever. In this particular, his poverty may have
been a blessing in disguise. Abraham Lincoln, when
a young man, accepted the position of post-master
in his rural village, because it gave him the opportu¬
nity to read the newspapers often remaining for a
little time in his care. The mail, whose coming and
going was so far between, was so small in quantity
that Mr. Lincoln “kept the office in his hat,” and
yet it was here that he formed his first taste for
politics, and laid the foundation for his wise knowL

HOW TO THINK.

IS7

edge of public affairs. It was again the little reading
and much thinking, shaped into a habit, that led on
to great results. Such examples are as numerous as
the names of successful men.

Fifth Method. — After some skill in thoughtful
reading has been acquired, it is a beneficial drill to try
reading or thinking amid noise and confusion. The
attempt will be most successful if the scenes and noises
are familiar, but when you can sit down amid crowds of
people in strange places and give yourself wholly to
the solution of some problem, you will have an excel¬
lent and a most practical acquirement:. This device

t

improves the thinking faculty chiefly through an
increased power of attention, and should be used as
a drill only.

Sixth Method. — A task requiring a still higher
degree of thinking power is that of analyzing each
page as you read it. Occasionally a book is found in
which this is already done by the use of bold-faced
type, or some such printer’s device, calling the reader’s
attention to prominent points. But take one not so
arranged, and at the close of each page note the lead¬
ing ideas of that page on a slip of paper. Add the
number of the page, draw a line, and proceed to the
next page. For these notes you should understand
what the writer is aiming to prove, and pick out only
the salient points, the finished arguments by which
the author is to arrive at his conclusions ; and your best
drill will be in stating these points in a few words,
clearly, so another reader could easily understand them.

1 88

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

In a historical or discriptive work, the jottings will
consist of the important things, persons, or events men¬
tioned. When the book or chapter is done, your notes
should constitute a good running table of contents.

Seventh Method. — Aside from the direct use of
reading as a means of developing the reasoning powers,
one of the best of easy methods is to take some simple
subject, analyze and diagram it, placing the various
parts in proper relation to each other. An efficient
and simple scheme for the diagram is the brace system
used in this book, which is simplified and explained on
page 25, where a fair example of what a beginner
might do, is given. In that analysis it will be seen
that the tree is examined with reference to the parts
which go to form it. The direction of inquiry in these
analyses should be varied ; as, for instance, the tree
might be examined with reference to the various uses
of trees. In that case, in place of the words, body,
roots, branches, something like the following would
have appeared : First, wood for timbers and fuel ; sec¬
ond, fruits for food ; third, shelter for men, beasts and
birds ; fourth, effect upon rain-fall and climate. This is
a practical way for the farmer, the mechanic, the work¬
ing man in any business or profession, to examine the
questions that present themselves to be studied and
acted upon in the line of his regular labors.

Eighth Method. — To choose some subject and
think over, or better, write down, all you know about it
in a simple, clear style and in some regular order, has
an excellent effect. Care should be taken not to

HOW TO THINK.

189

confuse this work with that of language-study, for
which this device is often used. Spend no time upon
a careful choosing of words, but give the entire mind
to calling up all your knowledge of the subject, sorting
it over, and arranging it upon a consistent plan.
Analyzing the subject by diagram, as just explained,
is a first step to this work. Both this and the last
method tend to the full development of that branch
of the Reflective power called classification, as may be
seen by a re-reading of that section.

Ninth Method. — An exercise involving all branches
of the Reflective power, and indeed, the entire Intel¬
lect, is one in which you take some statement and then
go about proving the statement true or false. The
Presentative power is busily employed in gathering
facts liable to be connected with the task. Representa¬
tion stands ready with these and all other information
already stored in the mind and the laws of association
present everything seeming to bear upon the question.
The Reflective power first classifies, then tries, by
either or all three of the methods, deduction, induction
and analogy, to prove the statement.

Steadiness of attention must be again urged upon
you ; it. has been said that not one person in a hundred,
even among the intelligent, can take up a train of
thought and carry it on connectedly and in regular
order to a rational conclusion, so little are people
trained in this direction. One of our great thinkers
says : “ I meditated when I was young, with a healthy
body, with a quick sensibility to facts, and with undis-

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

I9O

closed and undeveloped intellectual powers. I medi¬
tated — or thought I did; and when I woke I was
watching the creeping of a fly on the wall. I medi¬
tated — or tried to — about heaven, and about the
wondrous truths which belonged to a future state ; and
when I came to myself I was watching the birds out of
the window, I meditated ; but meditation with me
consisted mostly in checking myself and bringing
myself back to the thing in hand.” Yet he persisted
in calling back his straying thoughts, and manhood
and age brought the fruit of his efforts. “When I
was about fifteen years of age,” says one, “ a single
sentence printed across the margin of a book changed
my whole habit of life. The sentence was this.
‘Thought leads man to knowledge’; it was something
of a mystery to me ; I could not see just how or in
what way thought led man to knowledge ; and I finally
said to myself, If thinking leads man to knowledge, I
will just think about this sentence till I get a knowl¬
edge of it. At every spare moment I turned my mind
to the contemplation of this puzzling sentence. After
the first day or two I must admit that I grew tired of
it. I was tempted to laugh at myself as pursuing a
ridiculous notion, and my associates, whose minds were
wholly taken up with neighborhood incidents and fes¬
tivities, did not understand or sympathize with me, but
I had some ideas of the value of perseverance, and I
stuck to my task. As I followed the plow, the tall
grasses of the fallow-field disappeared in the furrow
under the upturned earth like the shifting scenes in a

HOW TO THINK.

1 9 1

kaleidoscope, all unnoticed ; there were the interrup¬
tions of stumps or stones to be well worked around,
for I earned the name of a good plow-boy ; but
once more upon the straight furrow, my steady horses
leaned into their collars, and my thought again took up
the old question. At length I found my study a pleas¬
ure and my mind turned to it with delight, although
the labor seemed quite fruitless. I believe this sen¬
tence haunted me for six months, and at last it dawned

a

gradually upon me that facts and ideas in the mind
were not real knowledge, except in the way that a fine
dinner collected on the table was real nourishment.
The food must be chewed, and especially must the
stomach thoroughly digest the food, before it can build
up the body, and become in the truer sense of the
word, nourishment. So with facts, ideas and impres¬
sions ; the mind must divide them, dissolve them,
digest them, before they can become real parts and
parcels of the mind and be worthy the dignified name
of knowledge. I might at first have accepted this
statement, ‘ Thought leads man to knowledge,’ as
being true because it was printed in a book, and have
stored it in memory as a simple fact. But instead,
I had now proved it, I had done with it just as it told
me to do with all such statements ; I had digested it,
and made it a part of my own mind. The sentence
was true: ‘Thought leads man to knowledge’; I
understood it, felt it, knew it.”

Every device that has been mentioned should be
called into play to chain the attention to steady medi-

i

192

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

tation. Making out diagrams on paper, and writing-
down notes, give the hand employment, and may
aid the memory in a complex subject to keep con¬
nections clear, but it is better to hold all steps of
the work in the mind if possible. It is a delicate
task to be sure of the reliability of what we are to
use as facts, and to guard every step of the reason¬
ing. But these are not all. Up from the Sensibili¬
ties may come floods of sympathy and desire. The
statement may be one shadowing something we hold
dear, and we are very anxious to prove it false. A
sense of duty may also be involved, rendering the
question still more complex ; and our facts, too, have
no doubt been gathered in the discoloring light of
small prejudices. We need not be told that to have
our final judgment wise, fair, truthful, requires a strong
and careful reasoning power ; nor can we fail to see
how this faculty reaches into and modifies every act
of our lives, and why the Intellect has been so often
styled “the lamp of the mind.”

In the following example we will study a question
which calls on us to increase our knowledge of the
subject thought upon :

THE QUESTION.

A number of years ago some workmen digging
a well near the Bay of Naples came to the top of
a house deep in the earth. They dug farther in
various directions, and found that a whole city lay
buried in ruins under the ground. None of the

HOW TO THINK.

T93

*

people living near there knew anything about the*
existence of such a city. The condition of decay
the houses were in showed they had lain there hun¬
dreds of years. Among the things found, there was
a barber shop furnished with materials for dressing
the hair similar to ours of this day. Without know¬
ing anything more about this ancient city, or the
things found there, only that a barber shop was
found as stated, what might be inferred regarding
the life, habits -and civilization of the people who
lived there ?

THE STUDY.

In answering this question it should first be ana¬
lyzed, if it will admit of being divided in any way.
We know that the civilization, or general improve¬
ment, or progress of any tribe or nation of people,
shows itself in two ways : first, in the direction of
shelter and* clothing for the body, and regular sup¬
plies of good food ; second, in contrivances for mental
enjoyment, wise laws for government, and moral,
religious and spiritual elevation. The study of the
question, then, will be divided into these two sections.

Section i. Tribes or nations of savages have no
separate trades or occupations. With them each
person prepares only such articles as are needed for his
own use, as his house, his tools, and his clothing, with¬
out receiving help from his fellows. Therefore, if
the old saying, “ Practice makes perfect,” be true, all
work will be very rudely and imperfectly finished,
13

i94

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

because each person is a learner in every different task
he has to do. The chief food of the savages consists
of such fruits and vegetables as the earth produces with
little cultivation, in addition to what is usually obtained
by hunting and fishing. Their habitations usually are
mere huts or caves, little better than those formed by
sagacious animals. The skins of beasts form the chief
clothing of the savage. The women of such nations
are almost always treated as slaves, having the most
severe portion of all necessary labor assigned for their
performance. It is evident, then, that the people who
lived in this buried city were not savages. A barber
shop, with implements for dressing hair, bespeaks a
state of affairs vastly better than savage life. Further¬
more, the principal art learned by all ancient nations
was the art of war. The war-like tendencies of a peo¬
ple must be overcome in some degree, and a peaceful
disposition pervade the nation before their attention
will be directed to improvement in anything else.

Again, a state of peace must always continue some
length of time, in order that all the sciences may grow ;
as great political disturbances, whenever they exist,
usually occupy the first place in the minds of the
people. Distinct and separate trades must have been
in existence, otherwise there would have been no such
thing as a barbers shop. Without doubt there were a
great variety of trades, as that of a barber is one of the
least necessary. Mines of metals must have already
been discovered, and their uses determined. Articles
of iron must have been made by blacksmiths, after the

HOW TO THINK.

195

iron had been made ready by those whose business it
was to prepare it, and knives and other cutting instru¬
ments would require a cutler to make them, after the
steel had been prepared from iron by still another class
of persons. If the barber had a permanent shop for
his use, other more important branches of business must
have had well-built structures also, and the building of
many houses would require trained carpenters. To
heat his curling irons, the barber must have a fire free
from smoke, which would require a chimney; this would
require a mason. The mason, to bind together the
bricks or stone must have mortar of some kind. The
art of making glass, also, must have been discovered,
otherwise the shops would have been sometimes too
much exposed to the weather, or, rather, too dark to
dress hair with much taste. If glass was much in use,
diamonds must have been obtained to cut the glass ;
consequently precious stones must have been in use.
To set the glass in window frames safely, and to
exclude dampness, something like putty would have
been needed ; and to make this mixture linseed oil was
required. This oil is extracted from the seed of flax,
and it is not likely that flax was cultivated merely for
its seed ; therefore we may reasonably suppose that it
passed through all the various changes of collecting the
lint, spinning it into threads and weaving it into cloth.
The loom and the implements used in making cloth
must have required much skill of workmanship in the
artist, and much genius in the inventor. And if cloth
were made from flax, is it not very likely that it was

196

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

also made from various other productions ? As metals
were known, and men were engaged in so many differ¬
ent arts, it is not to be expected that they remained
without the convenience of coined money. Festivities
and public amusements of various sorts must have been
common, and people were very careful of their personal
appearance ; otherwise there would have been no occa¬
sion for the barber ; as most persons by spending a few
moments can dispose of their hair very decently. If
the various mechanical arts had arrived at such a
degree of perfection, is it not probable that the trade
of this people with neighboring cities had become quite
extensive ? If so, as this city was situated on the Bay
of Naples, ships must have been employed to transport
articles from place to place. For the management of
vessels, something of the sciences of navigation and
astronomy must have been known. The vessels would
have needed paint to protect them from the weather
and the water. If paint was in use, as was doubtless
the case, chemistry must have been understood to some
degree.

We may, therefore, conclude that so far as bodily
safety and welfare, and what we call the comforts of

v

life, are concerned, and in the arts and sciences of
civilized life, these people had made great advance¬
ment, and, indeed, compared favorably with life in
the present century.

Section 2. For a people to live together in a city,
a system of laws to govern them was necessary, and
there must have been some persons in the position

HOW TO THINK.

I97

of law-makers, and others to administer and enforce
the laws. But even these are fruitless to protect the
masses of population from vicious persons unless sen¬
timents of simple honesty and morality were held by
the majority of the people, or a heavy body of soldiery
were maintained to enforce the judgment of the rulers.
The expense of supporting an army would be a heavy
tax upon the people, and hence a great drawback.
But we have no means of deciding how their laws
were made or enforced. As to whether the people
had any very sound system of morals and religion
or not, or whether their greatest aims in life were
the pursuits of wealth, feasting, idleness and sensu¬
ality, or were more wisely given to the pursuit .of
knowledge, wisdom, and a purer and a higher life,
the simple existence of a barber shop in their city
can give us no just clue.

Some of the conclusions in the above study are,
perhaps, not well supported by the data furnished ;
that is left to the reader’s judgment. It is given,
rather, as a specimen of what any thoughtful person
would be likely to do at a first attempt. One more
example will be given : that of a farmer’s young son
who had for years said that he meant to be a merchant
or a lawyer some day. He had reached the age when
it would soon be necessary for him to make some final
decision. For a period of nearly a year he had thought,
often very earnestly, about this matter. Below is his
written study of the question.

198

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

THE FARMER BOY’S SOLILOQUY.

What shall I do for life ? I am growing up, and
cannot expect to stay at home much longer. I must do
something to support myself, for I must say I have too
much grit to live off fathers money. He has given
me a good chance to earn money though, and I will
soon have enough to give me a fair start in any busi¬
ness I want to undertake. It has always been my
notion, since I was old enough to have a notion, that I
should like to be either a lawyer or a merchant. I
scarcely know how I got that idea fixed in my mind, but
I did get it somehow. I never thought much about it,
but it always seemed to me that Mr. Troley, down at
Middleton, had a pretty easy time of it. Compare his
work with father’s. Father has to get up before day¬
light and go out in the rain or snow to feed the horses,
and cattle, and hogs. He has to work in the mud when
it is wet, and in the dust when it is dry ; when it is hot,
he has to work in the harvest-field, and when it is cold
he has to work in the corn-field or timber. In the sum¬
mer he is sun-burnt, and in the winter his hands crack
open almost to the bone. He has to wear dirty, coarse,
patched clothes, because he can’t afford to spoil good
ones. Walking on the rough ground and in the mud
so much makes him stiff and awkward, and the folks in
town call him a clod-hopper. But this is more of a
joke than anything else, for they came to see him the
first one about the new gravel road. His hands are
hard and stiff, and it takes him nearly a whole day to

HOW TO THINK.

I99

write a letter to grandmother. I heard the teacher
last winter say he didn’t use good grammar and didn’t
know very much, and I suppose it must be true, for

w .

whenever he sits down to read he goes straight off to
sleep. Wonder why that is, anyhow? Folks are always
recommending a life in the country, but I see many dull
things about it. I saw a piece in a book about hard¬
working farmer’s wives, and I guess it is true. Mother,
I know, works too much. Sister Sue says she will
never marry a farmer, but I sometimes fear I will pity
the man that does marry her. She and her friend,
Belle Browning, were talking about a story they read,
where the young man gave up his chance of a fine
fortune for the sake of his sweet-heart and then she had
her face all marked up with an attack of smallpox, and
lost her beautiful auburn hair, and was cheated out of
her inheritance by a rascally uncle, and still the lover
married her. Sue said they were two downright fools ;
the young man for giving up his fortune, and the girl
for marrying him when he was poor. I felt like thresh¬
ing the man that made up such a story, and was going
to say so, but I thought I saw a tear on Belle’s face,
and she said, ‘‘Well, if a real good man actually loved
me like that I would not risk losing the good qualities
for the sake of a little money and her eyes flashed
“like diamonds,” as the books say.

One week last fall wheat was selling for one dollar
and fifteen cents a bushel, but father didn’t know it,
and sold his the next week for one dollar and eight
cents. He has not got over it yet. He and old Bill

200

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

Browning are trying between them to own all the land
in this township, or at least, to each own more than the
other. Browning has taken the lead just now, though,
by skinning the Johnson heirs out of their estate,
which will lay father in the shade, I guess, for I do
believe when he prays “honesty” on Sunday, he
means it for all the week. I cannot see that the neigh¬
borhood is any happier for their racing. By the way,
what right have our neighbors to expect us to help
make them happy? Preacher Wisely shows it very
plainly that they have, and I can almost feel how it is
myself. I know he has spent all his life in trying to
make other folks happy, and he is the happiest man
himself I ever saw. But old Browning says he will go
to the poor-house when he gets old and helpless. I do
not see how so mean a man as Browning could have so
good a daughter as Belle. Of course, we all want to
make money, but I have often wondered how much it
would take to satisfy father and Mr. Browning. I
always thought a man had a right to make all the
money he could by honest means, but a piece in the
newspaper last week says there is a new party to come
up to keep hoggish people from making more money
than they really need. There seem to be two sides to
every question. A quick way to make money is to
“ speculate,” but all I know about that is, that over in
Blue Creek neighborhood, on the through-line railroad,
where they get the daily newspapers every noon,
Ralph Williams, the hog buyer, made thirty-two thou¬
sand dollars in one month, buying grain in the city.

HOW TO THINK.

201

Thirteen of his neighbors then tried the same business,
and lost all the way from a hundred dollars or so up to
all they were worth. That was two years ago. Will¬
iams quit work, and moved to town, got to drinking,
and now his wife has run off with another man.
Besides, everybody is beginning to say that such a
speculator does not give anything for the money he
gets, and, therefore, he might just as well play cards
for his money.

Sometimes the roads are so bad we can’t get to
town at all ; once last winter father started with a load
of wheat and got into a big rut and broke his wagon
and froze his feet. When grandfather was sick, they
wrote to father to come and see him, if possible. But
the weather was bad and he didn’t go to town, so that
when he got the letter grandfather had already been
dead a week. Now if we had lived in town we would
have got the letter the same day it came, giving plenty
of time to get there before he died. Besides, living in
town we could know everything that was going on, and
not be as we were when the president was shot, always
a week or two behind the times. Mr. Troley never has
any dirty work to do ; all he has to do is to measure
off cloth and sell it. He does not have to go out into
the storm and cold, but stays in where it is warm. He
can always wear nice clothes. I never saw him without
a collar in my life. I saw him writing the other day
when he was making out father’s bill, and how he did
make his pen fly. He never has to walk in the mud,
for there is a sidewalk from his house to his store. He

i

202

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

always seems to have plenty of money, too. Mr.
Smithson, the lawyer, does not seem to have so much
money as Mr. Troley. But then, he knows so much,
and everybody looks up to him, and talks about him,
and goes to him for advice. And all he has to do is to
read and make speeches. And on the Fourth of July
he always delivers the oration, and everybody claps
hands and tells him how smart he is. I should think
that would be fine. And then they elected him to
congress last year, and he got a chance to go to Wash¬
ington and see all the big men, and be with them.
They never elect anybody but lawyers to congress. I
suppose it must be because nobody else knows enough.

I see there is a great deal to be said about this,
and when I have written along a piece I have to
scratch out about half, because it is not what I wanted
to say. The school teacher has a book about trades
and occupations that I would like to read. I will
write down all the short reasons I can think of, both
ways, the next rainy day. * * *

Reasons for not being a farmer.

i Exposure to stormy weather, and heat and cold.

2. Work begins so early in the morning, and con¬
tinues so many hours each day.

3. Work is often very dirty — in mud and dust, etc.

4. Are obliged to wear rough, mean looking clothes.

5. So much rough work makes a person stiff and
awkward.

6. Farmers don’t seem to think it worth while to be

HOW TO THINK.

203

good scholars. It makes me feel cheap, not to know
things.

7. Lives away from town, post-office, church, etc.;
never knows when anything happens, and never has
much company.

In favor of a life in town.

1. The merchant works in the house, and is not
exposed to storms and bad weather.

2. Can keep clean, wear good clothes, and always
seems sprightly and cheerful.

3. Gets all the news, knows everything, and has
a chance to see everything.

4. Makes a great deal of money.

5. Everybody knows the merchants and lawyers,
and goes to the lawyers for advice ; and sometimes
they are elected to good offices, and their names are
in the newspapers a great deal.

Against being a merchant or lawyer.

1. Has to stay in the house all the time, which must
be rather tiresome and injurious to health. Store¬
keepers, as a rule, are very short lived.

2. The fact is, they have to spend more hours at
their business than the farmer does at his.

3. Merchants have good chances to be dishonest,
and are frequently tempted to cheat, and people gen¬
erally treat them as if they were dishonest, or needed
very close watching.

204

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

4. The merchant is obliged to know a great deal,
or he will be making great mistakes and losing thereby.

5. Not one merchant in a hundred gets very wealthy,
while large numbers fail entirely.

6. Lawyers often have to read, write, talk and make
speeches, when they do not feel like doing it at all ; and
I imagine that is harder than plowing corn when you
don’t feel like it.

7. Young men in any business like law have a hard
time for a good many years at first to make a living.

8. Lawyers must have friends in order to get busi¬
ness to do, and good people seldom have much lawing
to do. He has to have friends among law-breakers
and law-twisters.

9. He has more chances to make money dishonestly
than he has honestly, and a good many people think
that he yields to the temptations.

10. When a lawyer takes one side of a case, he
always gets abused by everybody on the other side,
and if he runs for office, all the bad things he ever did
are told about him, and a good many lies besides.

11. Men in these professions have to be away from
home a great deal, which is unpleasant and unsafe.

Reasons for my staying on the farm.

1. I know how to farm, and can go ahead with it
without the risk of trying to learn a n.ew business.

2. The farmer is more independent than anybody
else. He does not have to depend on the friendship
of others for his business.

HOW TO THINK.

205

3. He is always sure of enough to eat, and he gets
it fresh and pure, and his work is very healthful.

4. He has more chances of tolerable success than
anybody else. A farmer who will work half of his
time, and be careful, need never “break up.”

5. The farmer never has to be away from home
much.

6. He has all his evenings and the stormy days
himself for reading, planning and thinking.

I have copied a lot of these reasons out of books, and
some of them I do not fully understand; but the more
I think about it the more I feel certain that the farm¬
er’s life can be made the best after all, and that the farm
is the place for me. I think I can find time on the
farm to study, read and write ; I will take the papers,
and go to the post-office regularly, so that I will know
about things as well as anybody. I will have trees,
flowers and grass about my house instead of cornfields
and pig-pens ; and I will have things cheerful and com¬
fortable inside. I can have books and music, and have
my friends come to visit me. I will not try to get rich
in the first ten years, nor be foolish enough to want to

reach a time when I will not work at all. I will not

»

work so hard, or eat so much, or be so tired and sleepy;
thus I will keep my head clear enough not to be
cheated by sharpers ; and I will read, and understand
things, and learn the ways of the world, and the mys¬
teries of life and the great future.

Such is the effort of a boy to find all the informa-

206

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

tion he could, and to confine his mind to the task of
arranging both that information and his own thoughts
upon a question of life importance to him. Men and
women of years and wisdom will grapple with questions
that are as deep to them as that above was to the boy
of seventeen, and the first attempt at writing down
their thoughts and reasonings will have much the same
appearance as his. By more study, the mistakes,
digressions, and false reasons must be cut out, and the
whole reduced, by the rules already given, to a system¬
atic statement of the whole matter, and thus to a fair
and just conclusion.

REMARKS.

Good health, regular habits and general culture of
the whole man are most favorable to powerful thought.
Especially are grossness of food and drink, or the indul¬
gence in extreme passion, very hurtful, and any act
that we feel is wrong, or that cannot be remembered
with self-satisfaction, disquiets and distracts the mind
from a steady attention. Continued petty annoyances,
or extreme excitements, are to be avoided. Brindley,
the great English engineer, after visiting a theatre,
could not pursue his studies with success for a whole
day.

It seems scarcely necessary to advise the reader
against too much thinking, but a few points must be
guarded. The fruit of all healthy thinking is action.
He who spends his time studying dead questions will
soon be out of joint with the world, and himself too.

HOW TO THINK. 20*]

The warm blood of human life, love, and sympathy
must thrill through all his work. So closely is our
existence wound in with the lives of our fellows, that
any labor not actuated by an interest in the welfare
of others can never be blessed with the best fruits.
This fact will appear more fully in that part of this
book devoted to the study of sympathy, but it must be
mentioned here, for the need of a strong sympathy
is an ever constant, ever present need. Solitary medi¬
tation, protracted study, or mental anxiety of any
kind, is very hurtful without frequent social inter¬
course and cheerful exercise. A life of active useful¬
ness is the necessity of our nature.

In the way of an ability to think closely, to think
for some definite purpose, and make that thought
tell, we are surprised to find the number of persons
who have it, so small. Those who have a fair,
and even an excellent education, either allow busi¬
ness, pleasures, company, visits, and many other less
useful things, to take up their whole time, leaving no
room for sober thought ; or else they iive a wholly
retired life, and if they have any useful thoughts or
reach any wise conclusions, never show them in their
actions. Learning to think is not an easy task.
Nothing in this world that is really worth doing is very
easy. But it is the privilege of every one to improve
himself if he wills. Upon this point a high authority
has said, “ However low you may stand in the scale of
intellect, be sure that it depends but upon yourself to
raise yourself to a high grade of ability, if not to the

208

THE REFLECTIVE POWER.

very highest. Never despair! You may be long in
darkness, you may feel yourself a while to be incapable
of original thought, but in this you are no worse off
than other people. They were all in the same condi¬
tion until they had worked out their ability for them¬
selves. What I say to one, I say to all. Do but read
and meditate, and if you only persist, persist , persist in
the experiment, you will surely rise, and even in spite
of yourself, become a person of great force and influ¬
ence. You will have difficulties, severe difficulties, to
encounter ; but, if you take to your heart the assurance
that you must vanquish them at last, your toil will be a
true pleasure, the contest itself an exquisite and
prolonged delight.”

Let us recall to our minds, again and again, that this
power of calling the attention from the things around
us to ideas in the memory, constitutes the chief power
of the human intellect ; and that the superiority of
one mind over another is the degree in which this
gift is granted or cultivated. When Newton was asked
how he discovered the system of the universe, he
answered, “ By thinking about it.” This thinking to
reach an end is the glory of the mind. The power
of fixing the intellect on an object, and bringing all
facts within our knowledge that are likely to relate
to that object and throw light upon it, and also the
search after new facts with a belief in the existence
of new facts, though they are yet unknown, proves
that the human mind is akin to the mind which
planned the universe. Seeing the reason of one

HOW TO THINK.

209

fact, the human intellect justly guesses the reason
why other facts should be found. Thus one thought
awakes ten thousand, and these all move like an
army in obedience to one will, and to reach our one
purpose. By urging the mind higher and higher,
we leave bodily hindrances behind, and in the calm
region above, to which the spirit climbs, the sky
appears like that of another world.

The exercise of this trained ability to think gives
to man one of the highest pleasures which he is
capable of feeling. It is a system in the midst of
variety, and this is one of the chief elements of
beauty. We may study nature’s laws, and understand
her wonderful reasons; we may contemplate the course
of the sun, the stars, the planets ; and as the mighty
plan of them all dawns upon us — grand vision! — we

think the thoughts of God !

14

/

Kindred Topics.

*

^ HE analysis of the Intellect has just been
completed ; we have examined its four
powers, subdividing and considering each in
turn. There are many very interesting
questions about intellectual action or condi¬
tions of intellect, that invite our attention,
because they promise to throw much 'light
upon the Intellect itself. Two of the most
common of these peculiar conditions are
sleep and insanity, with both of which every¬
one is familiar. Then the intelligence- of
animals, as compared with that of man, has
received the attention of nearly every writer
1 upon the mind and its functions. Some
space will be given to these three topics : the intelli¬
gence of animals, insanity, and sleep, because they are
so closely related to the Intellect ; and, also, because
this is really the best way to obtain a general knowl¬
edge of man’s mental nature. As has been already
said, the mind itself cannot be seen with the eye, or
heard with the ear. We must make its acquaintance
through a study of its actions and conditions. (The

reader who is intent upon pursuing the analysis of

210

SLEEP.

21 I

mind without delay, can omit this portion and proceed
at once with Sensibilities, page 251.)

Sleep is a word which is very familiar to us in its
practical bearings, but of which it is not easy to give a
definition that shall at once be scientifically accurate
and easily understood. Its principal feature is the par¬
tial suspension of the connection between mind and
body. The manifestations of this are well known to
all. The first nerves to be affected are usually those
of motion and some of the special senses. The head
droops upon the shoulders ; the body seeks a position
in which it can find support, as it is unable to hold
itself erect ; the eyelids close, and the balls become
sightless. Usually, the last nerves to succumb to sleep
are those of hearing and touch. A person who is other¬
wise completely oblivious to his surroundings, can still
hear and feel. Even in our soundest sleep, an unusual
noise, or the touch of a strange body, instantly wakens
us. There are many interesting examples of the princi¬
ple that all our powers do not fall asleep at the same
instant ; some of which form exceptions to the general
order mentioned above. Reference has been already
made in the discussion of another topic, to the fact that
soldiers often march while sleeping, and physicians and
others who ride much, sleep while riding. I have also
quoted Sir William Hamilton’s story of a postman who
often slept while walking across a certain meadow, but

212

THE intellect; kindred topics.

awoke on approaching a somewhat insecure bridge.
In all these cases the nerves of motion remained active,
though they are usually the first to feel the influence
of drowsiness. Mr. Day says that he, “after an
exhausting journey by night and day, undertook to read
to others a long document of much value and interest,
with which he had become familiar during his journey.
He fell asleep, but continued reading till, after a page
or two, the hand which held the manuscript dropped
and awakened him.” Erasmus tells a story similar
to this, of Oporinus, who was reading a manuscript to
another, and was discovered to be asleep while reading.

DREAMING.

One of the most common and most interesting
phenomena of sleep is dreaming. There are things
in connection with it which have puzzled the closest
examiners, and all that can be done with this subject is
to present a number of authentic narratives of remark¬
able or characteristic dreams, and give such reasons as
suggest themselves for a few of the circumstances
noticed in connection with them. The first question
which arises is whether we are ever without dreams in
our sleep. It has already been shown — pages 56 to
59 — that we are not, that the mind is always active,
even in our soundest sleep.

DIRECTED BY RECENT EVENTS.

Dreams are frequently directed in a particular
course by recent events and thoughts. If we have

DREAMING.

213

been reading of a battle during the day, we are liable to
dream of participating in one during the night. Many
timid people dislike to hear of ghosts, wild animals, and
other frightful objects in the evening, for fear of
dreaming of them afterward. Recent experiences and
sensations are sometimes mixed up in the strangest
ways with those long past, and with each other. A
woman who was a patient in the clinical ward of the
infirmary of Edinburgh, under the care of Dr. Duncan,
talked a great deal in her sleep, and made numerous
and very distinct allusions to the cases of other sick
persons. These allusions did not apply to any patients
who were in the ward at that time ; but, after some
observation, they were found to refer correctly to the
cases of individuals who were there when this woman
was a patient in the ward, two years before.

EFFECT OF BODILY SENSATIONS.

Dreams are often modified, or, we might say, par¬
ticular dreams are caused, by bodily sensations at
the time. There is a story of a soldier in the Ameri¬
can Revolution who dreamed that he was drowning.
Waking with fright, he discovered that his knapsack

had slipped forward, throwing his head back and his

«

mouth open. It was raining at the time, and the
tent being leaky, water was dripping into his mouth.
Hence the dream. Dr. Gregory left a manuscript
on the subject of dreams, from which we have the
following: “ Having on one occasion gone to bed
with a vessel of hot water at his feet, he dreamed of

214 the intellect; kindred topics.

walking up the crater of Mount /Etna, and of feeling
the ground warm under him. He had at an early
period of his life visited Mount Vesuvius, and actu¬
ally felt a strong sensation of warmth in his feet
when walking up the side of the crater; but it was
remarkable that the dream was not of Vesuvius, but
of /Etna, of which he had only read Brydone’s
description. This was probably from the latter im¬
pression having been the more recent. On another
occasion he dreamed of having spent a winter at
Hudson’s Bay, and of suffering much distress from
the intense frost. He found that he had thrown off
the bed-clothes in his sleep ; and a few days before
he had been reading a very particular account of the
state of the colonies in that country during the winter.
Again, when suffering from a toothache, he dreamed
of undergoing the operation of tooth-drawing, with
the additional circumstance that the operator drew a
sound tooth, leaving the aching one in its place. But
the most striking anecdote in this interesting docu¬
ment is one in which similar dreams were produced
in a gentleman and his wife at the same time, and
by the same cause. It happened at the period when
there was an alarm of French invasion, and almost
every man in Edinburgh was a soldier. All things
had been arranged in expectation of the landing of
an enemy, the first notice of which was to be given
by a gun from the castle, and this was to be followed
by a chain of signals calculated to alarm the country
in all directions. Further, there had been recently

DREAMING.

215

in Edinburgh a splendid military spectacle, in which
five thousand men had been drawn up in Prince’s
street, fronting the castle. The gentleman to whom
the dream occurred, and who had been a most zeal¬
ous volunteer, was in bed between two and three
o’clock in the morning, when he dreamed of hearing
the signal gun. He was immediately at the castle,
witnessed the proceedings for displaying the signals,
and saw and heard a great bustle over the town
from troops and artillery assembling, especially in
Prince’s street. At this time he was roused by his
wife, who awoke in a fright in consequence of a
similar dream, connected with much noise and the
landing of an enemy, and concluding with the death,
of a particular friend of her husband’s, who had served
with him as a volunteer during the late war. The
origin of this remarkable concurrence was ascertained
in the morning to be the noise produced in the room ’
above by the fall of a pair of tongs, which had been
left in some awkward position in support of a clothes
screen.” A military officer once dreamed, after a late
supper, that the prince of darkness was sitting cross-
legged on his stomach, holding the Bunker Hill
monument in his lap.

GUIDING DREAMER’S THOUGHTS.

Sometimes persons can be led into a regular
conversation in their sleep, and some can even be made
to act in various capacities by speaking to them. One
writer says he knew a student in college who acquired

216 the intellect; kindred topics.

the art of leading his room-mate when asleep to trans¬
late his Greek lessons for him after night. The
following anecdote is obtained from Dr. Gregory’s
manuscript cited above : “ There was an officer in the
expedition to Louisburg, in 1758, who had this pecul¬
iarity in so remarkable a degree, that his companions in
the transport were in the constant habit of amusing
themselves at his expense. They could produce in him
any kind of dream by whispering into his ear, especially
if this was done by a friend with whose voice he was
familiar. At one time they conducted him through
the whole progress of a quarrel, which ended in a duel ;
and when the parties were supposed to be met, a pistol
was put into his hand, which he fired, and was
awakened by the report. On another occasion they
found him asleep on the top of a locker or bunker in
the cabin, when they made him believe he had fallen
overboard, and exhorted him to save himself by swim¬
ming. He immediately imitated all the motions of
swimming. They then told him that a shark was pur¬
suing him, and entreated him to dive for his life. He
instantly did so with such force as to throw himself
entirely from the locker upon the cabin floor, by which
he was much bruised, and awakened, of course. After
the landing of the army at Louisburg, his friends found
him one day asleep in his tent, and evidently much
annoyed by the cannonading. They then made him
believe that he was engaged, when he expressed great
fear, and showed an evident disposition to run away.
Against this they remonstrated, but at the same time

DREAMING.

217

increased his fears by imitating the groans of the
wounded and the dying ; and when he asked as he
often did, who was down, they named his particular
friends. At last they told him the man next himself in
the line had fallen, when he instantly sprang from his
bed, rushed out of the tent, and was roused from his
danger and his dream together by falling over the tent-
ropes. A remarkable circumstance in this case was,
that after these experiments he had no distinct recol¬
lections of his dreams, but only a confused feeling of
oppression or fatigue ; and used to tell his friends that
he was sure they had been playing some trick upon
him.”

APPARENT LENGTH OF DREAMS.

A remarkable circumstance attending dreams is the
apparent great length of time lived through in them.
It has been thought by many that the mind is more
active then than when we are awake. But that does
not seem to me to be the true explanation. It is by
means of communication with the outer world that our
minds are balanced and set aright. We can, when
awake, think over the scenes of a battle in a very short
space of time, but we know how little time has elapsed,
and we know that we are not engaged in the battle.
When the senses are asleep, this communication with
the external world is interrupted, and the mind is left
to pursue its own wild fancies without anything to
restrain it and show the falseness of its imaginings.
Hence, the events we think over seem to be actually
present, and though we think them as quickly as in our

2l8 the intellect; kindred topics.

waking hours, they seem to take up as much time as
they naturally would in reality. Thus, the battle which
the mind runs over in a minute, seems to take an hour,
or perhaps a day. A gentleman dreamed that he had
enlisted as a soldier, joined his regiment, deserted, was
apprehended, carried back, tried, condemned to be
shot, and at last led out for execution. After all the
usual preparations a gun was fired ; he awoke with the
report, and found that a noise in an adjoining room
both produced the dream and awakened him. Dr.
Gregory tells of a gentleman, who, after sleeping in a
damp place, was for a long time liable to a feeling of
suffocation whenever he slept in a lying posture ; and
this was always accompanied by a dream of a skeleton
which grasped him violently by the throat. He could
sleep in a sitting posture without any uneasy feeling ;
and after trying various expedients he at last had a
sentinel placed beside him, with orders to awake him
whenever he sunk down. On one occasion he was
attacked by the skeleton, and a severe and long strug¬
gle ensued before he 'awoke. On finding fault with his
attendant for allowing him to lie so long in such a state
of suffering, he was assured that he had not lain an
instant, but had been awakened the moment he began
to sink. Another gentleman dreamed that he crossed
the Atlantic, stayed a fortnight, and was returning
when he fell into the sea. This awakened him, and he
found he had not slept more than ten minutes. De
Ouincey said that he often seemed to live through
many years in a single night.

DREAMING.

219

\

TASKS ACCOMPLISHED.

Many curious cases are on record of considerable
mental achievements made during sleep. Franklin
used frequently, on waking in the morning, to find
political questions which had been troubling him the
day before clearly resolved in his mind. A mathema¬
tician after having labored in vain' upon a problem for
a long time, found the solution on his table one morn¬
ing. He had risen during his sleep and solved the
problem upon a piece of paper, but was totally unable
to remember the act, and only the evidence of his eyes
could convince him of the work he had done during-
the night. Coleridge dreamed out his beautiful poem,
“ Kubla Khan,” while asleep in a chair. He gives the
following account of it. In consequence of a slight
indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed for the
author, from the effect of which he fell asleep in his
chair at the moment he was reading the following sen¬
tence, or words of the same substance, in “ Purchas’s
Pilgrimage”: “ Here the Khan Kubla commanded a
palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto ; and
thus ten miles of fertile ground were inclosed with a
wall.” The author continued for about three hours in a
profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during
which time he has the most vivid confidence that he
could not have composed less than from two to three
hundred lines ; if that indeed can be called composition
in which all the images rose up before him as things,
with a parallel production of the correspondent expres*

220

THE intellect; kindred topics.

sions, without any sensation or consciousness of effort..
On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct
recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink and
paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the lines, that
are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortu¬
nately called out and detained above an hour, and on
his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise
and mortification, that though he still retained some
vague and dim recollection of the general purport of
the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten
scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away
like the images on the surface of a stream into which a
stone had been cast, but, alas ! without the after resto¬
ration of the images. Dr. Carpenter speaks of an
occurence which shows that the mind is capable of
intense activity in sleep, and also that it may perform
protracted and difficult labors, without being able to
recollect them on waking. A man was called upon to
prepare a discourse for public delivery at a certain
occasion. By the evening before the day of the
appointment, he had succeeded in writing a speech, but
was utterly disgusted with it. During the sleep that
followed, he dreamed of a new way of treating the sub- -
ject, and when he awoke he went to his desk to write
out his new ideas. Judge of his astonishment on find¬
ing that he had already performed that operation, the
ink being yet scarcely dry. The following anecdote
has been preserved in a family of rank in Scotland, the
descendants of a distinguished lawyer of the last age :
“This eminent person had been consulted respecting

DREAMING.

221

a case of great importance and much difficulty ; and he
had been studying it with intense anxiety and attention.
After several days had been occupied in this manner,
he was observed by his wife to rise from his bed in the
night and go to a writing-desk which stood in the bed¬
room. He then sat down and wrote a long paper which
he put carefully by in his desk, and returned to bed.
The following morning he told his wife that he had a
most interesting dream ; — that he had dreamed of deliv¬
ering a clear and luminous opinion respecting a case
which had exceedingly perplexed him ; and that he
would give anything to recover the train of thought
which had passed before him in his dream. She then
directed him to the writing-desk, where he found the
opinion clearly and fully written out, and which was
afterward found to be perfectly correct.”

ARE DREAMS PROPHETIC?

One of the most frequent queries regarding dreams
is as to whether they are prophetic ; or, as we often
hear the question asked, “ Do they come true?” With¬
out attempting any explanation of them, for I do not
believe anybody understands the subject as yet, I shall
content myself by mentioning a few of the many cases
in which remarkable forewarning of future events
seems to have been given in dreams.

Cicero tells of two Arcadians who went to Mezara
and engaged separate lodgings. One of them appeared
twice to the other in dreams ; the first time imploring
help, and the second time murdered, and informing the

222 THE INTELLECT; KINDRED TOPICS

dreamer that his body would be conveyed out of the
city early in the morning, through a certain gate, in a
covered wagon. Impressed by the dream, he went at
the designated time to the gate mentioned, found the
body in the wagon as described, arrested the murderer,
and handed him over to the officers. The following is
originally from the “London Times”: “A Mr. Will¬
iams, residing in Cornwall, dreamed twice in the same
night that he saw the Chancellor of England killed, in
the vestibule of the house of commons. The dream so
impressed him that he related it to several of his
acquaintances. It was subsequently ascertained that
on the evening of that day the chancellor, Mr. Perceval,
was assassinated according to the dream.” A lady
dreamed that an aged female relative had been mur¬
dered by a black servant, and the dream occurred more
than once. She was then so impressed by it that she
went to the house of the lady to whom it related, and
prevailed upon a gentleman to watch in an adjoining
room during the following night. About three o’clock
in the morning, the gentleman hearing footsteps on the
stairs, left his place of concealment, and met the ser¬
vant carrying up a quantity of coals. Being questioned
as to where he was going, he replied, in a confused and
hurried manner, that he was going to mend his mis¬
tress’ fire — which, at three' o’clock in the morning in
the middle of summer, was evidently impossible ; and
on further investigation a strong knife was found
concealed beneath the coals. The people interested
believed that a murder had thus been prevented.

ARE DREAMS PROPHETIC?

223

Another lady dreamed that a boy, her nephew, had
been drowned along with some young companions
with whom he had engaged to go on a sailing excur¬
sion. She sent for him in the morning, and with much
difficulty prevailed upon him to give up his engage¬
ment ; his companions went, and were all drowned.
Haven gives a case told by Dr. Moore: “A friend
of his dreamed that he was amusing himself, as he
was in the habit of doing, by reading the epitaphs
in a country church-yard, when a newly-made grave
attracted his attention. He was surprised to find on
the stone the name, and date of death, of an inti¬
mate friend of his, with whom he had passed that
very evening in conversation. Nothing more was
thought of the dream, however, nor, perhaps, would
it ever have recurred to mind, had he not received
intelligence some months afterward, of the death of
this friend, which took place at the very date he had
in his dream seen recorded on the tombstone.”

Two ladies, sisters, had been for several days in
attendance upon their brother, who was ill of a com¬
mon sore throat, severe and protracted, but not con¬
sidered as attended with danger. At the same time,
one of them had borrowed a watch from a female
friend in consequence of her own being under repair ;
this watch was one to which particular value was
attached on account of some family associations, and
some anxiety was expressed that it might not meet
with any injury. The sisters were sleeping together
in a room communicating with that of their brother,

224 the intellect; kindred topics. .

when the elder of them awoke in a state of great
agitation, and having roused the other, told her that
she had had a frightful dream. “ I dreamed,” said she,
“that Mary’s watch had stopped; and that, when I
told you of the circumstance, you replied, ‘ Much worse

than that has happened, for - ’s breath has stopped

also,’ ” naming their brother who was ill. To quiet her
agitation, the younger sister immediately got up and
found the brother sleeping quietly, and the watch,
which had been carefully put in a drawer, going cor¬
rectly. The following night the very same dream
occurred, followed by similar agitation, which was
again composed in the same manner — the brother
being again found in a quiet sleep, and the watch
going well. On the following morning, soon after
the family had breakfasted, one of the sisters was
sitting by her brother, while the other was writing
a note in the adjoining room. When her note was
ready for being sealed, and she was proceeding to take
out for this purpose the watch alluded to, which had
been put by in her writing desk, she was astonished
to find it had stopped. At the same instant she
heard a scream of intense distress from her sister in
the other room — their brother, who had been still
considered as going on favorably had been seized
with a sudden fit of suffocation, and had just breathed
his last. A man dreamed that the vessel in which
his brother was an officer, and, in part, owner of the
cargo, was wrecked on a certain island and the cargo
lost, but the hands saved. He was so impressed that

ARE DREAMS PROPHETIC ?

225

he went directly and procured an extra insurance of
five thousand dollars on his brother’s portion of the
property. By the next arrival, news came that the
vessel was wrecked at the time and place of which
the man had dreamed, and the mariners saved.

SOMNAMBULISM.

Very much like dreaming is the singular phenom¬
enon of somnambulism, or sleep-walking. Possibly the
latter is only a heightening of the former. In the
ordinary dream, the person’s mind is active, but his
body is at rest ; in somnambulism, both body and mind
act. The principal features of somnambulism, are the
following : The subject, while in a state of sound
sleep, and perfectly unconscious of what he does,
rises, walks about, finds his way over dangerous, and,
at other times, inaccessible places, speaks and acts as if
awake; performs in the dark, and with the eyes closed,
or even bandaged, operations which require the closest
attention and the best vision ; perceives, indeed, things
not visible to the eye in its ordinary waking state,
perhaps even things absent and future, and when
awakened from this state, is perfectly unconscious of
what has happened, and astonished to find himself in
some strange and unusual position.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

There lived in Bordeaux a young minister who was
a somnambulist. The case was carefully watched by a

student there who afterward became Archbishop of
15

226 THE intellect; kindred topics.

Bordeaux, and who went into the young man’s room
every night. He would rise, take paper, pen, and ink,
and proceed to the composition of sermons. Having
written a page in a clear, legible hand, he would read
it aloud from top to bottom, with a clear voice and
proper emphasis. If a passage did not please him, he
would erase it, and write the correction plainly, in its
proper place, over the erased line or word. All this
was done without any assistance from the eye, which
was evidently asleep ; a piece of pasteboard interposed
between the eye and paper producing no interruption
or inconvenience. When his paper was exchanged for
another of the same size, he was not aware of the
change, but when a paper of different size was substi¬
tuted, he at once detected the difference. Very many
such cases are recorded of persons who have written,
and performed various other operations requiring ordi¬
narily, the exercise of the sense of sight, with the eyes
shut, bandaged, or otherwise rendered useless.

A gentleman found that his hen-roost was visited
every night by thieves of some kind, threatening the
speedy extermination of his flock. What surprised him
most, was the fact that his watch-dog, a large and
trusty animal, failed to give an alarm. Finally he
ordered his servants to watch the roost. They did so,
detected the culprit, and after a violent struggle, cap¬
tured him. Judge of his surprise on finding out that he
himself was the depredator, and that during his sleep
he had been stealing his own chickens. One of the
most remarkable instances of which I have ever heard,

SOMNAMBULISM.

227

is the following1 of a contest in painting by the young
ladies of a certain seminary. Among the competitors
was a young and timid girl who was conscious of her
inferiority in the art, yet strongly desirous of success.
For a time she was quite dissatisfied with the progress
of her work, but by and by began to notice, as she
resumed her pencil in the morning, that something had
been added to the work since she last touched it. This
was noticed for some time, and quite excited her curi¬
osity. The additions were evidently by a superior
hand, far excelling her own in skill and workmanship.
Her companions denied, each and severally, all knowl¬
edge of the matter. She placed articles of furniture
against her door in such a way that any one entering
would be sure to awaken her. They were undisturbed,
but still the mysterious additions continued to be made.
At last, her companions concluded to watch without,
and make sure that no one entered her apartment
during the night, but still the work went on. At length
it occurred to them to watch her movements, and now
the mystery was explained. They saw her, evidently in
sound sleep, rise, dress, take her place at the table, and
commence her work. It was her own hand that uncon¬
sciously to herself, had executed the work in a style
which, in her waking moments, she could not approach,
and which quite surpassed all competition. The pict¬
ure, notwithstanding her protestations that it was not
her painting, took the prize. A young gentleman men¬
tioned by Horatius, living in the citadel of Breslau, was
observed by his brother, who occupied the same room,

228 THE intellect; kindred topics.

to rise in his sleep, wrap himself in a cloak, and escape
by a window to the roof of the building. He there tore
in pieces a magpie’s nest, wrapped the young birds
in his cloak, returned to his apartment, and went
to bed. In the morning he mentioned the circum-
stances as having occurred in a dream, and could not
be pursuaded that there had been anything more than
a dream, till he was shown the magpies in his cloak.

In Massachusetts, some years since, a girl of four¬
teen years of age, of a nervous temperament, but with¬
out any extraordinary intelligence, after having fallen
asleep in the daytime, would rise from her chair and
deliver a sermon, which she preceded by the usual
religious services, as if to a large audience. These
discourses, which far exceeded in mental power her
waking ability, she would deliver day after day, or on
alternate days, without repetition, however, of thought
or language.

The reason why a person can walk when asleep, on
places where he would not venture when awake, is
probably that while his eyes are closed he governs his
movements by the sense of touch alone. A man can
walk without difficulty on the narrow space of a rail¬
road iron. If he were unconscious of danger the same
space would suffice just as well for him to walk seventy-
five feet above the ground. The somnambulist, being
unable to see, is not conscious of any danger, and
climbs the same ledges at a great height, that we could
all climb if they were close to the ground.

As to the performance of operations, without the

SOMNAMBULISM.

229

use of the eyes, which would seem necessarily to
involve the exercise of sight, there is, I believe, no
universally accepted explanation. It is ascribed by
some, however, to a “ general sense” — feeling — which
includes all of the special senses, and which is height¬
ened when any of these are absent.

Insanity.

Slightly related to dreams and somnambulism, is
Insanity. The primary characteristic of insanity in all
its various forms, is the loss of power to control the
workings of the mind, and to correct its extravagant
mistakes by comparison with the external world. The
ideas that take possession of the mind seem to be real¬
ities, and the evidence of his senses is not strong
enough to convince the patient that they are not real,
but are only wild whims of imagination. His diseased
fancy converts his narrow cell into a magnificent throne
hall ; and he, poor maniac, shivering upon his bed of
straw, is the king, wielding his scepter over a broad
and powerful land.

CHARACTERISTICS.

In the severest cases, one idea generally takes
possession of the sufferer’s mind, and drives everything
else out. He may fancy himself a king, or an inspired
agent of the deity, or even God himself ; or he may
think that he is financially ruined, or that on the con¬
trary, he has made a lucky speculation, and become

23O THE INTELLECT ; KINDRED TOPICS.

enormously rich ; in fact, there is' no limit to the
number of absurd fancies conjured up by the insane.
Their phantoms are as various as the minds of men.
But, whatever the nature of the delusion, it is complete,
and obtains entire control of the maniac’s mind. He
acts always in the capacity of the person he claims to
be, and cannot in any way be persuaded out of his
belief.

Sometimes insanity disappears suddenly, and the
person steps back into his old life, unconscious of the
lapse of years, that have been clouded for him. The
following case was originally told in the “ American
Journal of Science.” A man had been employed for a
day with a beetle, or maul, and wedges, in splitting
pieces of wood for erecting a fence. At night, before
going home, he put the beetle and wedges into the
hollow of an old tree, and directed his sons, who had
been at work in an adjoining field, to accompany him
next morning to assist in making the fence. In the
night he became maniacal and continued in a state of
insanity for several years, during which time his mind
was not occupied with any of the subjects with which
he had been conversant when in health. After several
years his reason returned suddenly, and the first ques¬
tion he asked was, whether his sons had brought home
the beetle and wedges. They, being afraid of entering
upon any explanation, only said that they could not
find them ; on which, he arose from his bed, went to
the field where he had been at work so many years
before, and found, where he had left them, the wedges

/

CHARACTERISTICS OF INSANITY. 23 1

\

and the iron rings of the beetle, the wooden part being
entirely mouldered away.

ACTIVITY OF MIND IN INSANITY.

Insane persons are sometimes possessed of an activ¬
ity and vigor of mind which did not belong to them
in health. Pinel says he has often stopped at the
chamber door of a literary gentleman, who, during his
paroxysms, appears to soar above the mediocrity of
intellect that was familiar to him, solely to admire his
newly acquired powers of eloquence. He declaimed
upon the subject of the Revolution with all the force,
the dignity, and' purity of language that this very
interesting subject would allow. At other times he
was a man of very ordinary abilities.

MONOMANIACS.

A peculiar and interesting class of the insane is

%

made up of those who are insane in one thing and in
all others are apparently sound. You would not dis¬
cover their insanity in talking with them, unless the
particular topic of their delusion happened to be
touched upon. A man, mentioned by Pinel, who had
been for some time confined in the Bicetre, was on the
visitation of a commissary, ordered to be dischared as
perfectly sane, after a long conversation in which he
had conducted himself with the greatest propriety.
The officer prepared the paper for his discharge, and
gave it him to put his name to it, when he subscribed

232 THE intellect; kindred Tones.

himself Jesus Christ, and then indulged in all the
reveries connected with that delusion.

Lord Erskine gives a very remarkable history of a
man who indicted Dr. Munro for confining him, with¬
out cause, in a madhouse. He underwent a most rigid
examination by the counsel of the defendant without
discovering any appearance of insanity, until a gentle¬
man came into court who desired a question to be put
to him respecting a princess with whom he had corre¬
sponded in cherry juice. Instead of replying “I never
did such a thing,” he immediately talked about the
princess in the most insane manner, and the cause was
at an end. But this Laving taken place in Westmin¬
ster, he commenced another suit in the city of London,
and on this occasion no effort could induce him to
expose his insanity ; so that the cause was dismissed
only by bringing against him the evidence taken at
Westminster.

It can scarcely be believed that the plan of confining
many hundred insane people in a vast cheerless build¬
ing known as an asylum, is the right one. Here the
gentle melancholic and the convalescent are brought
into contact with the raving maniac. It is almost
enough to unbalance a sound mind, and its effects on
those already diseased cannot but be injurious in the
extreme. A musician confined in an asylum, as one of
the first symptoms of returning reason, made some
slight allusions to his favorite instrument. It was
immediately procured for him ; he occupied himself
with music for several hours every day, and his conva-

MONOMANIACS.

233

lescence seemed to be advancing rapidly. But he was
then unfortunately allowed to come frequently into
contact with a furious maniac, by meeting him in the
gardens. The musician’s mind was unhinged ; his
violin was destroyed ; and he fell back into a state of
insanity which was considered as confirmed and hope¬
less. Some of the states are happily beginning to
appreciate this fact, and are trying the experiment of
building smaller asylums and more of them. The
results must surely prove satisfactory.

With regard to the care of the insane, they should
be removed from the associations of their lunacy, and so
far as possible, their minds should be drawn away from
the subject of their delusion, by giving them something
else to think about. A farmer in the northern part of
Scotland became quite celebrated for his successful
treatment of the insane. The principal part of his
method was to keep them constantly employed in
severe bodily toil which, to a degree, at least, with¬
drew their attention from the subject upon which they
were insane, and thus gradually cultivated a new train
of thought in their minds.

Intelligence of Animals.

Ever since the time of Aristotle, and, perhaps, from
a date earlier yet than that, a discussion has been
going on in the learned world about the kind and
degree of animal intelligence. It is a question which
possesses a great deal of interest, striking, as it does..

234 THE intellect; kindred topics.

within the bounds of three of the “ologies” — psy¬
chology, zoology, and theology. From the time of
Aristotle to that of Descartes the prevalent opinion
was that animals were endowed with faculties like our
own, except that they were not so highly developed.
Descartes originated a theory that the brutes were
not possessed of mind at all, but that their actions
were merely like the motions of a machine ; that the
bird built its nest for much the same reason that the
hand of a clock pointed to the hour upon the dial
plate — because it was so constructed that it could
not avoid it. Since Descartes, the philosophers have
been gradually going back to the old opinion. At
the present time they are, perhaps, pretty nearly .
equally divided into two classes : those who hold that
brute intelligence is of the same kind as human intel¬
ligence, and those who hold that it is different, the
brute having only instinct. Many of the latest and
most thorough observations of the lives and habits
of animals prove to us that they have a higher grade
of intelligence than we are usually in the habit of
giving them credit for. To say that man acts only
through reason, and brutes only through instinct, is
not fair to either; it does not, at any rate, do justice
to man. In order to arrive at the true place that
animals occupy in the scale of creation, let us examine
the whole scheme of life in the world.

First, there are the little grains of matter, minute
atoms, that make up the entire earth, the water, the
air, the stones, the clods of the field. These move

INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 235

about upon themselves according to only a few simple
rules, and pass through various changes. We are not
in the habit of saying that the clods of the field- have
life, however. But the giver of all forces adds another
force to those already acting on the elements of the
earth, and at once we begin to have plants — we have
plant-life. Plants combine in their existence all the
elements and forces that operate on matter below them,
and also another force, added to call them into life. No
one, however, credits plants with having thoughts or
knowledge. But having the elements of the earth and
the rules that govern them, and having plant-life and
the additional rules that govern it, the world is ready
for a higher form of life. Straightway a new force is
.added, this force we call intelligence, and we have
animals. For the animal to live, it uses all there is in
Nature below it. Its body is made up of the elements
of the earth, most of which it gets at second hand, from
plants ; it is subject to all of Nature’s laws, but has the
higher gift of being able to see and in a measure to
know things. The more intelligent of animals even
reason to the extent of combining things already in
their reach to produce results which they desire : as the
elephant blew against the wall that the force of its
breath might raise the small piece of money and roll
It out from the wall so the elephant might pick it up ;
but here the mental power of animals ceases.

Above animals in the scale, comes man, with his
higher forms of intelligence added unto that of animals.
He not only combines, but he analyzes, takes a thing

236 THE intellect; kindred topics.

to pieces and studies its parts as related to each other,
and proves in many ways his superiority over animals,
and his fitness to have dominion over all the earth.
But in man’s life appears all there is below him in
nature. Every force that has appeared comes into
play, and a higher force is added to rule them all.
In the mental actions of men, therefore, are some
things that rank with the mentality of animals. Many
of the common acts of life, everything in the way of
taking food and continuing life, are closely akin to
instinct, and are not superior to the intelligence of
animals. Man’s greater ability appears at each step,
of course, but the really higher forces in his nature
show themselves in other particulars. He stands upon
the summit of all earthly things ; his existence has
the broadest range. No other creature can sink so
low, or rise so high. He is the finishing stroke, the
connecting link between creation and Creator.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE.

Some years ago there was a dog in London whose
habit it was to attend every fire in the city to which
the fire department was called out. He kept this up
for many years, never being known to miss. Another
fire dog would climb the fire escapes and, crouching
close to the floor, below the clouds of smoke, search
the rooms of the burning house, and if a person was.
found helpless from suffocation, would set up a howl
which would bring the firemen to the rescue.

A gentleman in Suffolk, on an excursion with his

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 237

friend, was attended by a Newfoundland dog, which
soon became the subject of consideration. The
master, after a warm eulogium upon the perfection of
his canine favorite, assured his companion that he
would, upon receiving the order, return and fetch any
article he should leave behind, from any distance. To
confirm this assertion, a marked shilling was put under
a large square stone, by the side of the road, being
first shown to the dog. The gentlemen then rode for
three miles, when the dog received a signal from his
master to return for the shilling he had seen put under
the stone. The dog turned back ; the gentlemen rode
on and reached home, but to their surprise and dis¬
appointment, the hitherto faithful messenger did not
return during the day. It afterward appeared that he
had gone to the place where the shilling was deposited,
but the stone being too large for his strength to
remove, he had stayed howling at the place, till two
horsemen riding by, attracted by his seeming distress,
stopped to look at him, when one of them alighting,
removed the stone, and seeing the shilling, put it into
his pocket, not at the time conceiving it to be the
object of the dog’s search. The dog followed their
horses for several miles, remained undisturbed in the
room where they snipped, followed the chambermaid
into the bedchamber, and secreted himself under one
of the beds. The possessor of the shilling hung his
trousers upon a nail by the bedside ; but when the
travelers were both asleep, the dog took the trousers in
his mouth, and leaping out of the window, which was

238 the intellect; kindred topics.

I

left open on account of the sultry heat, reached the
house of his master at four o’clock in the morning, with
the prize he had made free with, in the pocket of which
was found a watch and money, that were returned
on being advertised, when the whole mystery was
mutually unraveled, to the admiration of all the
parties.

Mr. Youatt tells the following anecdote, vouching
for its truth : A young man, an acquaintance of the
coachman, was walking, as he had often done, in Lord
Fife’s stables at Bauff. Taking an opportunity when
the servants were not regarding him, he put a bridle
into his pocket. A highland cur that was generally
about the stable saw him, and immediately began to
bark ; and when he got to the stable door, it caught
him by the leg, in order to prevent his passage. As
the servants had never seen the dog act thus before,
and the same young man had been often with them,
they could not imagine what had been the reason of
the dog’s conduct. However, when they saw the end
of a valuable bridle peeping out of the young man’s
pocket, they were able to account for it ; and on his
giving it up, the dog left the stable door, where he had
stood, and allowed the boy to pass.

A dog owned by a merchant in the neighborhood
of Vera Cruz, received a wound in the ear. His
master immediately carried him to a chemist, who
applied a remedy, bandaging it afterward. For three
days the operation was repeated, but the fourth, the
dog seeing that his master delayed more than usual in

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 239

coming to take him, went alone to the apothecary,
leaped upon the counter and remained there until the
necessary operation was performed ; and without wait¬
ing more for his master to take him, continued repeat¬
ing his visits to the apothecary until he was entirely
cured.

The perfection which shepherd dogs and the various
breeds of sporting dogs attain in the performance of
the work to which they are trained, is well known.

But intelligent as the dog is, he is equaled, and
perhaps even surpassed, by the elephant. There are
two modes of capturing the Asiatic elephant, the one
by pursuing solitary individuals and binding them with
ropes as they wander at will through the forests, and
the other by driving a herd of elephants into a previ¬
ously prepared pound, and securing the entrance so as
to prevent their escape. In the former method the
hunters are aided by certain trained females, termed
“koomies,” which enter into the spirit of the chase
with wonderful animation, and help their riders in
every possible manner. When the koomies see a fine
elephant, they advance carelessly toward him, plucking
leaves and grass, as if they were perfectly indifferent to
his presence. He soon becomes attracted to them,
when they overwhelm him with such endearing femi¬
nine blandishments, and occupy his attention so fully,
that he does not observe the proceedings of the
“ mahouts,” or riders. These men, seeing the elephant
engaged with the koomies, slip quietly to the ground
and attach their rope nooses to his legs, fastening the

240 THE intellect; kindred topics.

ends of the cords to some neighboring tree. Should no
suitable tree be at hand, the koomies are sagacious
enough to comprehend the dilemma, and to urge their
victim toward some large tree which is sufficiently
strong to withstand his struggles. As soon as the
preparations are complete the mahouts give the word
of command to the koomies, who move away, leaving
the captive elephant to his fate.

In all work which requires the application of great
strength combined with singular judgment, the elephant
is supreme. In piling logs, for example, the elephant
soon learns the proper mode of arrangement, and will
place them upon each other with a regularity that
would not be surpassed by human workmen. Sir
Emerson Tennent mentions a pair of elephants that
were accustomed to labor conjointly, and which had
been taught to raise their wood piles to a considerable
height by constructing an inclined plane of sloping
beams, and rolling the logs up the beams.

The horse is taught to obey the voice of its master
when he is commanded to start, stop, turn to right or
left, or go backward. A herders horse learns to drive
cattle with but little attention from his rider. Horses
traveling over ground with which they are familiar
need no guidance when going homeward. Cases are
on record of horses which have traveled as much as
twenty miles with their riders asleep, never once
missing the way. All city people are familiar with
the wonderful training and intelligence exhibited by

the horses of the fire department. A case of recent

/

ILLUSTRATIONS OF ANIMAL INTELLIGENCE. 24I

occurrence illustrates their intelligence in adapting
themselves to unusual circumstances. The hook and
ladder cart was going to a fire at a headlong speed,
drawn by four spirited horses, when at a corner it
struck an obstruction and over-turned, almost killing
two of the men. Most horses would have broken
into a run-away under such circumstances, they being
already in a full run, but these noble beasts stopped
instantly, and did not move until the matter was
righted.

LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

It is generally taken for granted that animals never
manifest a love for the beautiful, and it is not very
evident that what we call a lovely scene would, in
itself, afford pleasure to a brute ; but there is abundant
proof that many, if not all, animals are sensitive to
music. Science tells us that light is only a species of
wave-like motion ; that all matter has motion of some
sort, and that sound results, also, from a peculiar form
of motion. It is not unreasonable to suppose, then,
that music, with its regular succession of wave-like
sounds, may strike a responsive chord in the material
nature of the animal, as the strings of the harp sitting
idle in the room, vibrate when proper sounds from
other sources strike them. But it must be the sen¬
suous element in music that moves the animal, while
for men music may have an elevating effect — a spiritual
fragrance. We must remember that not all sweet
music is beneficial to the human listener. There are

16

242 THE intellect; kindred topics.

some strains which seem to appeal only to the lower,
the animal part, of man’s sensuous nature, while there
are other melodies which lift the feelings above the
common . things of earth, calming and purifying the
very soul. Of the moral effect of music animals can
know nothing, but of their sensibility to the regular
pulsations of sound in music, many very interesting
observations have been made.

There are well authenticated cases of mice coming
out of their hiding places to listen to music. There
was an account current years ago of one which came
out when the music commenced, and retreated when it
ceased. This operation was repeated several times.
After the music had continued for some little time, the
mouse died from the excitement caused by it. Snakes
are also affected by music, and in a singular way. The
following was observed by Tennent, in Ceylon: “A
snake charmer came to my bungalow, requesting me to
allow him to show me his snakes dancing. As I had
frequently seen them, I told him I would give him a
rupee if he would accompany me to the jungle and
catch a cobra (a most poisonous serpent), that I knew
frequented the place. He was willing, and, as I was
anxious to test the truth of the charm, I counted his
tame snakes, and put a watch over them until I
returned with him. Before going, I examined the
man, and satisfied myself he had no snake about his
person. When we arrived at the spot, he played upon
a small pipe, and after persevering for some time, out
came a large cobra from an ant-hill which I knew it

LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 243

occupied. On seeing the man, it tried to escape, but
he caught it by the tail and kept swinging it round
until we reached the bungalow. He then made it
dance, but before long it bit him above the knee. He
immediately bandaged the leg above the bite, and
applied a snake-stone to the wound to extract the
poison. He was in great pain for a few minutes, but
after that it gradually went away, the stone falling off
just before he was relieved. When he recovered, he
held up a cloth, at which the snake flew, and caught its
fangs in it. While in that position, the man passed his
hand up its back, and, having seized it by the throat,
he extracted the fangs in my presence and gave them
to me. He then squeezed out the poison on to a leaf.
It was a clear, oily substance, and when rubbed on the
hand produced a fine lather.”

Old war horses become spirited and lively when
they hear strains of martial music, but no doubt this is
partly because it reminds them of their past lives. The
following communication is vouched for : At three
different times I was the owner of cats that were
evidently much influenced by music. The first was
always strangely moved whenever I sang Ah che la
murte ognora * from “ Trovatore,” and no matter where
she was — in what part of the house or grounds, she
would come to me as soon as the first notes of the song
reached her; if asleep on the rug, she would awaken
and come to the piano, by which she would remain
stationed till the song was finished, after which she

*In English, “Ah, that death always,” etc.

244 THE intellect; kindred topics.

\N

would resume her former position by the fire. Instru¬
mental music had no power over her, nor did any other
sone than the one mentioned.

Again, I possessed a cat that I had raised from a
little kitten. When I first noticed it I was just recov¬
ering from an attack of illness, and being incapable of
reaching the piano, would frequently have on the bed
near me my guitar, upon which I would, at times, play.
The kitten seemed wonderfully attracted by the music,
and would climb upon the bed and sit quietly watching
me, seeming much pleased. After I was strong enough
to resume piano playing, the kitten was my constant
companion. Whenever I seated myself at the instru¬
ment, it would either crawl into my lap, or climb upon
the piano and curl itself upon one of the mats, in either
of which positions it would be an observant and intent
listener to either vocal or instrumental performances,
manifesting no preference for either, seeming to like
both equally. These habits grew with the kitten’s
growth, and when it had attained its full size, it still
manifested the same love for music. Instead of calling
it by name, I would merely walk to the piano and run
my fingers over the keys, which was sufficient to bring
it to me at any and all times. Frequently I would
leave the instrument open and go off to some other
part of the house, when I would hear sounds from the
piano, and upon returning to the parlor would find the
cat very busily walking up and down the key-board
making music for itself. Its favorite place for sleeping
was on the piano stool.

/

LOVE OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

245

My third pet manifested quite a preference for the
beautiful song from Gluck’s “Orpheus,” Che faro
senza EurydiceC Whenever I sang it she would come
into the room mewing and whining, and with the most
troubled expression in her eyes, would approach the
piano and walk around it, and never ceased her plain¬
tive cries till I had finished the sonm Once she
seemed more powerfully influenced than ever before
or after, and jumping upon a box of music books that
was in close proximity to the key-board, she put out
her paws and touched my fingers, never having ceased
her plaintive cries. I paid no attention to her, when,
as if to enforce upon me some desire that she could
not speak, she seized one of my fingers in her mouth
and left thereon the impress of her teeth. In this last
instance, as in the first related herein, only the one
song had power to move her, she, like her predecessor,
having been indifferent to all other music.

SYNTHETIC THOUGHT IN ANIMALS.

Synthetic thought, that is, the .ability to combine, or
bring together two or more things to produce a desired
result, is sometimes seen, to a limited extent in animals.
A timber merchant living in a seaport town of England
had two remarkably fine dogs that frequently afforded
striking evidences of sagacity. “Hector” and “Wal¬
lace” had often, in quitting the timber-yard, to pass
through a narrow lane, which ascended a hill leading

from the sea. In this lane lived an old woman, who

«

*“What can I do without Eurydice?”

246 THE intellect; kindred topics.

kept a snappish little cur, that always ran out and
barked at the Newfoundlands. Of this they took no
notice, or only answered the insolence of the cur by
a dignified growl. At last the little culprit, emboldened
by the forbearance of the Newfoundlands, snapped
at the hind leg of one of them and bit it severely.
Hector, the dog which was bitten, turned round, and,
seizing the cur by the neck, carried him leisurely down
to the sea-side, plunged in, and swam with him to what
is called “boat’s moorings ’—about a hundred yards or
more from the shore. There he let the unhappy cur
go, and as he attempted to swim ashore, Hector, every
now and then struck him with his paw. The cur was
drowned, but the Newfoundland brought his body
ashore and laid it out upon the beach — a solemn warn¬
ing to all curs against offending the dignity of a New¬
foundland. Mr Youatt tells a similar story, but in this
latter instance capital punishment was not inflicted, a
severe ducking having been considered a sufficient
penalty. While the government harbor or pier at
Donaghadee, I reland,. was building, a battle took place
between two powerful dogs. One was a Newfound¬
land, the other a mastiff. They had a prolonged fight
upon the pier, from the point of which they both fell
into the sea ; and as the pier, was long and steep, they
had no means of escape but by swimming a consid¬
erable distance. Each began to make for the land as
best he could. The Newfoundland, being an excellent
swimmer, very speedily gained the shore, on which he
stood shaking himself, but at the same time watching

SYNTHETIC THOUGHT IN ANIMALS.

247

the motions of his former antagonist, which, being a
bad swimmer, was struggling exhausted in the water,
and just about to sink. In dashed the Newfoundland,
took the other gently by the collar, kept his head above
water, and brought him safely on shore. There was a
peculiar kind of recognition between the two animals.
They had often fought before, but never did so after¬
ward ; and upon the Newfoundland dog being acci¬
dentally killed by a stone-wagon on the railway passing
over him, the mastiff languished and lamented for a
considerable time.

The bee, compelled to construct her comb in an
unusual and unsafe position, steadies it by constructing
a brace of wax-work between the side that inclines
and the nearest wall of the hive. The spider in like
manner, whose web is in danger, runs a line, from the
part exposed to the severest strain or pressure, to the
nearest point of support, in such a manner as to secure
the slender fabric. A bird has been known, in like
manner, to support a bough which proved too frail to
sustain the weight of the nest, and of her young,
by connecting it, with a thread, to a stronger branch
above.

A tame fox that was kept in a stable-yard had
managed to strike up a friendship with several of
the dogs, and would play with them, but could never
induce the cats to approach him. Cats are very sen¬
sitive in their nostrils, and could not endure the odor.
They would not even walk upon any spot where the
fox had been standing, and kept as far aloof as pos-

248 the intellect; kindred topics.

sible from him. The crafty animal soon perceived
that the cats would not come near him, and made
use of his knowledge to cheat them of their break¬
fast. As soon as the servant poured out the cats’
allowance of milk, the fox would run to the spot
and walk a few times around the saucer, well know¬
ing that none of the rightful owners would approach
the defiled locality. Day after day the cats lost their
milk, until the stratagem was discovered, and the milk
placed in a spot where it could not be reached by
the fox.

CONCLUSION.

The differences between the intelligence of animals
and the mental powers of man appear in several par¬
ticulars. Animals have no analytic thought. They

see a house, but they see it as a whole, and it

cannot suggest to them the thought of the separate

stones and pieces of lumber that are united to form

the house.

Animals have no language by which they can trans¬
mit experience from one generation to another, and
therefore they never, as a race, make any progress or
improvement. The bird and beaver build their domi¬
ciles just as well, but no better, than they did six
thousand years ago, while men avail themselves of the
experience of all the ages past. Man is the only being
who uses fire, or metals, or invents or uses machinery ;
and man alone trades, exchanges, and engages in com¬
merce. These things mark man as being essentially

CONCLUSION.

249

higher than animals in his having a capacity for prog¬
ress. In this connection, man has the wish and the
power to make his influence felt in places distant from
his own home, and to have his influence continued
after his own death, upon future generations.

The animal is incapable of having a knowledge of
right and wrong, properly speaking. The trained brute
may remember that it was chastised when engaged in
a certain act, and fearing the chastisement, will avoid
that, or similar acts in the presence of its master, ever
afterward. But that it ever thinks beyond this fear of
chastisement, we have no evidence whatever. The
animal can never be made to understand why an act
is right or wrong. His instinct always shields his wel¬
fare, and, left to himself, he is incapable of degrading
himself. In his natural life, there is no such thing as
right or wrong.

Animals never laugh. They never manifest any
sense of the ludicrous. They are also incapable of
moral feelings. We may have a person so described
to us that we will love or hate, though we never saw
the person. That is, we are affected by the qualities of
the person in question, but no animal can conceive of
abstract qualities ; no animal ever loved the master he
never saw. He is, therefore, incapable of worship in
the higher sense of that word.

The animal can do no such thing as study his own
nature and destiny, and choose a definite and continued
line of conduct for life. His acts all spring from
impulse, natural tendencies, or ingrafted habit, while

250 THE intellect; kindred topics.

man is capable of foreseeing the results of a habit, and
of forming his habits accordingly. He can contemplate
the different possible ends of his life, and choose which
he will labor to attain. Man is the only being, then,
who is capable of making a fool of himself. A brute
will be a brute to the end of its days, but a man may
become either a devil or an angel.

t

HE SENSIBILITIES.

T will be remembered that in the
beginning of our study we divided
the mental powers into three gen¬
eral classes: those of the Intellect,
those of the Sensibility, and those
of the Will. The Intellect has

*

already been discussed, and we now come
to the Sensibility. Intellect is the great
knowing and judging power of the world ;
Sensibility is the motive power, and if we
would understand ourselves, our fellow-men,
and the history of the human race, we must
know something of this motive power
which impels to action. Nothing was ever done or
left undone without a feeling of some kind being at the
bottom of it. Does a merchant labor all day in his
store ? it is because of a love of money, or of that
which money will procure. The soldier risks his life
upon the battle-field from love of country, or of glory.

A man kills his enemy out of hatred. So all actions,

251

252 THE SENSIBILITIES.

little or great, good or bad, result from some exercise
of Sensibility. The man that knows well this part of
the mind, knows all the secret springs of action that
urge mankind to the performance of every deed done.

We have already seen that a strong body and a
strong mind should naturally be found together ; and
that strong memory and strong reasoning powers are
proper companions. The strength of any part of a
human being, within reasonable and healthy limits, is
conducive to the strength and health of all other parts.
H ence we should expect from the harmony of nature to
find a powerful Sensibility — a quick, whole-souled,
vigorous feeling, united to a sound, strong Intellect;
and so we do find it. Those of this world who have
done great thinking, or great acting, have been persons
of great feeling as well. They may have been proud,
or ambitious, or avaricious, or they may have been sym¬
pathetic and affectionate — but in some direction, and
generally in several directions, they were men of strong
feelings. Such men are strong in love and strong in
hate — they do nothing weakly.

ANALYSIS.

The divisions of Sensibility may be classified as
the emotions, the affections, and the desires. (See
page 254.) The emotions have been subdivided into
two classes : the simple, and the rational. The affec¬
tions likewise are of two kinds : love, and hate. And
the desires are either animal, or rational.

By simple emotions we understand such as mere

ANALYSIS OF THE SENSIBILITIES. * 253

joyousness or sadness without special cause, joy at
the good fortune of self or an associate, sorrow at
the death of friends, etc. By rational emotions, we
mean those of a somewhat higher order : as the feel¬
ing of pleasure caused by the beautiful, the right,
etc., and of sadness caused by the reverse.

Love and hate are too well understood to need
defining.

Animal desires are those of the body : as for food,
warmth, and action. Rational desires are those of
the mind : as for wealth, fame, knowledge, power,
and that broad and universal sentiment commonly
called the desire for happiness. Some have claimed
that this desire for happiness of ourselves, which
would also include the happiness of our friends, is
the sum total of all the motives of men. And,
indeed, it is true that in one view of the subject,
all pursuits are pursuits of happiness. Man’s delib¬
erate line of conduct always points to some end to
be attained which he thinks will increase his great¬
est good. But this, the broadest meaning of the
term, is not the sense in which we will now use
it. As one of the desires, and a branch of the Sen¬
sibilities, it reters more particularly to our desire
for happy associations, and a freedom from all want
and all care.

When an affection or a desire grows unduly power¬
ful, it becomes a passion.

Hope and fear are outgrowths of the desires, the
element of expectancy being added. Thus, when we

254

THE SENSIBILITIES.

desire a thing, and have room to expect it, we hope
for it ; if we dislike a thing, and have any reason
to expect it, we fear it.'

A full analysis of the Sensibilities is presented
as they have just been described, which is, also,
the order in which the divisions will be treated.

Simple. «

'The Emotions. *

Cheerfulness or Melancholy.

Sorrow at the Loss of Friends.
Sympathy with Joy or Sorrow of
Others.

.Rational.^

r Love.

Sensibilities. -

The Affections. -

* Hate.

.The Desires.

' Self-Approval or Disapproval.
Enjoyment of the Ludicrous.
Surprise.

^ Enjoyment of Reverence.

Love of Husband and Wife.
Love of Kindred.

Love of Friends.

Love of Benefactors.

Love of Home and Country.

Envy.

Jealousy.

Revenge.

Food.

Rest.

Action.

Sex.

' Happiness.

Knowledge.

Power

.Rational. <! Money.

Superiority.

Society.

Esteem.

Animal.

Modified by f Hope.

expectancy. | Fear.

Ihe Emotions.

CHEERFULNESS OR MELANCHOLY.

HO has not observed in his acquaintances a
radical difference of temperament ? One is
always cheerful and happy ; possesses, as we
say, an inexhaustible fund of good-humor.
Another is quiet, melancholy and recluse ;
he rarely smiles, and can but very seldom be
led into a hearty laugh.

Happy is the man who possesses the first
temperament. It is always June to him.
Nature wears colors that are perennially gay. Indiffer¬
ent things are pleasant to him, and sad things are soon
driven out of his mind by a flood of happier thoughts.
He is. always bubbling over with joyousness; and his
happiness is catching ; one cannot be long with him
without feeling something of that same enlivening
spirit. This happy disposition constitutes the chief
ornament and value of youth. Care and misfortune
rest easily upon the young man. He lives in the
future. Hope paints everything for him, and her
beautiful colors hide the disagreeable scenes of life.
As he gets older, a two-fold change takes place : the

objects of hope grow fewer, and unpleasant memories

255

/

256

THE EMOTIONS.

grow more numerous, and both have a tendency to
make him melancholy. Still, there are a few who
preserve their merry, cheerful dispositions, even after
they have grown old; — happy, indeed, are such.

Melancholy has not any necessary connection with
grumbling and growling. Some men whose disposi¬
tions have been so sad that life was burdensome to
them, have been most gentle and uncomplaining; the
poet Cowper was such a one. Everything is tinged
with sadness to them. If they see a beautiful flower,
it is only to reflect that it must soon fade, and its pres¬
ent loveliness gives them no pleasure. Wealth is
unstable, honors hampered with toilsome care, youth
fleeting: therefore they derive no happiness from the
possession of these by themselves or friends.

Poets have generally possessed this disposition.
One of the greatest of the poetic brotherhood has very
beautifully said that poetry, like a rainbow, must always
have a dark background. Byron thus describes his
own feelings :

Melancholy

Sits on me, as a cloud along the sky,

Which will not let the sunbeams through, nor yet
Descend in rain, and end; but spreads itself
Twixt heaven and earth, like envy between man
And man — an everlasting mist.

Besides the two classes of persons just mentioned,
those who are habitually cheerful, and those who are
habitually sad, there is another, in whom the extremes
of both dispositions are joined. One minute they are

CHEERFULNESS OR MELANCHOLY. 257

sunk into the deepest sadness, and the next they are
lifted into the most extravagant of hilarious gayety.
The melancholy Cowper, who once came near com¬
mitting suicide, wrote the comic ballad, “John Gilpin.”
Edward Young, author of “Night Thoughts,” perhaps
the gloomiest poem in the English language, was a
lively, witty man in society. So was Byron. Comic
Tom Hood, who wrote so many puns and funny things
of all sorts, wrote also the sad “ Song of the Shirt,” and
the “Bridge of Sighs,” and the “Ode to Melancholy.”
A famous comedian was convulsing all Paris with laugh¬
ter. One day a gentleman called upon a physician to
know whether anything could be done for the extreme
melancholy from which he suffered. “ Go and hear

- , the comedian,” said the physician. “Alas! I,

myself, am - , the comedian,” said the sad man,

and went away uncured.

SORROW AT THE LOSS OF FRIENDS.

✓

\

Among the more common emotions is the poignant
grief we feel at the loss of our friends. There are few
who do not know from sad experience, how deep and
abiding is the wound left in the heart by the death of a
beloved friend. Two lives grow together, in the course
of a long and close companionship, until they are so
firmly united that each seems necessary to the existence
of the other, and when they are torn rudely apart, the
shock is an overwhelming one to the survivor.

At first, the mind is thrown completely into the

shadow — the great cloud. No light appears. The
17

258

THE EMOTIONS.

world looks dark, and the future utterly void of hope.
There is only the gloomy prospect of a long, lonely,
barren existence. A void, “ an aching void,” is left in
our lives, which it seems impossible that we can ever
fill. We could wish to die, that we might be with our
friend. Our spirits break down, and seek relief by
pouring out their sorrow in hysterical sobs, moans, and
tears. Now and then a strong soul bears up and is
silent and tearless. He is like a fine old tree in the
forest, that has been stricken with lightning and stands
blackened and lifeless, but strong and uncomplaining
still. Such men are the noblest of earth. Their grief
is not the less keen because they do not give it voice ;
nay, it is the more so ; it is a pent up fire that scorches
and withers the bosom that holds it.

After a time, the first violence of the sorrow
subsides, and it becomes a sort of melancholy. Time
is a great assuager of all kinds of pain. New associa-
tions are gradually formed which in some measure fill
the place of the old one. New cares and new labors
occupy the attention, and the loss suffered long ago
comes up less frequently to mind, and when it does
arise, it brings with it only a mild and subdued pain ; *
not the sharp, piercing one it once did.

One effect of death is to hallow the memory of the
departed. The weaknesses p.nd foibles of our friends,
to which we were so keenly alive during the time they
were with us, are forgotten when we have them no
longer. We love to dwell upon their amiable traits,
and think of the good they did ; a peculiarly holy

SORROW AT THE LOSS OF FRIENDS. 259

atmosphere surrounds them, and throws its glamour
over the whole course of their lives.

4

SYMPATHY.

The word sympathy is derived from two Greek
words, one of which means with, and the other, feel-
mg, or sensibility. Thus, the proper meaning of
sympathy is a fellow-feeling — a feeling with; and it
includes all cases where one partakes of the feelings
of another. It is commonly used to denote merely
the feeling of sorrow at another’s sorrow — a mean¬
ing which is too restricted. We not only mourn
when others mourn, but we rejoice when they rejoice';
and the one is as much sympathy as the other. It
is one of the finest traits of human character that
we share the joy and sorrow of our neighbors. With
sympathy absent, this would be a sad world, indeed.
Men would be wholly selfish ; there would be no hesi¬
tation about inflicting any amount of pain upon others
for our own advancement and comfort.

The feeling is a natural one, and makes its appear¬
ance very early in life. The child of one year will cry
* when it sees its mother in trouble, and will toddle up
to rub mamma’s cheek, and kiss her. The same child
will laugh and crow when it sees others merry, not
knowing in either case why it laughs or cries, but doing
so out of pure sympathy. Even brutes have this feel¬
ing, to some extent. One animal will sometimes help
another of the same kind in distress, if it is possible to
do so. Not very long ago, an interesting anecdote

26o

THE EMOTIONS.

went the rounds of the papers, which will illustrate this
power of sympathy in birds. A gentleman walking in
the fields one cold morning, had his attention attracted
by the strange actions of a number of sparrows, who
seemed to be pecking at the tail of another one. Upon
the approach of the gentleman, the birds all flew away,
except the one they had been working with, which
could not go, as its tail was frozen fast in the ice. Its
sympathetic comrades had been trying to set it free
from its uncomfortable position, and probably they
would have succeeded in doing so finally, had they not
been forestalled by the gentleman.

The end for which this tendency was implanted in
our nature is very evident ; — it is a means of preventing
the extremity of cruelty and heartlessness which would
often result from the conflicting interests which agitate
the minds of men, if there were nothing to counteract
them. If there were no such thing as sympathy, the
aspirant for wealth or position would not hesitate to
crush any one who presented an obstacle to his farther
progress. Another purpose of sympathy is to lead men
to acts of mercy. But for it a person in danger would
get but little help. As it is, if one sees any person in a
burning building, and in imminent danger of perishing
in the flames, he rushes in to the rescue, without a
thought of his own peril in so doing. If it were only a
matter of reason and deliberation, he would weigh the
chances of his own death or injury, and probably the
helpless person in the building would be left to die.
Still another benefit arises from sympathy. One

SYMPATHY.

26l

devoid of this property is at a serious loss when con¬
fronted with new sets of circumstances, and persons
with whose manners and ways of thinking he is not
familiar. He cannot conform himself to the new sur¬
roundings ; he stands aloof from other people and can¬
not understand them. On the contrary, one who
possesses a lively sympathy, throws himself at once
into the swift current of life, and becomes a part of it.
He can comprehend the motives which govern the
actions of men and can enter into them. He perceives
that men are oftener mistaken than willfully wrong, and
consequently he has less to chafe and worry him than
the one who thinks the world is all in a great conspi¬
racy against him and the principles which he regards as
right. The sympathetic man, too, is the only one who
can get a proper and complete idea of history. Of
what good is a knowledge of the bare facts of history
unless we can look through them to the motives which
brought them about, and thus be able to calculate
somewhat upon the probable results of those same
motives in the future ?

A notable peculiarity of sympathy is that it makes
but little difference what the object of it is. The
execution or imprisonment of a criminal excites our
sympathy to a very high degree, even though we may
believe that he fully deserves all the punishment he is
getting. We would plunge into the water to save a
poor, insignificant boy, almost as promptly as if he
were a man of ability and prominence. Brutes even,
when in distress, excite our sympathies to an almost

262

THE EMOTIONS.

incredible degree. This is a wise provision, and acts
beneficially in a great many ways. .

The theory has been advanced that sympathy is
only an outgrowth and exhibition of our selfish nature ;
that if we sympathize with a person in trouble, it is only
because we imagine ourselves in his place, or because
we fear we may have like trouble, or some other such
reason as those. But for my part, I cannot narrow
down all the good and kind actions of life, and base
them upon the one ignoble principle of selfishness. It
seems to me that sympathy, for one thing, stands on a
foundation much broader than selfishness. Moreover,
it has been very acutely and justly objected to this
theory, that if it were true, the most cowardly person,
or the most selfish one, would be the most sympathetic
and merciful ; whereas the exact opposite is known to
be the truth.

SELF-APPROVAL, OR DISAPPROVAL.

The emotions which we have thus far considered
belong to the class denominated simple emotions.
There yet remain to be discussed those called rational ;
that is, those which involve the use of the reason
and other high faculties of the mind, as well as of
the sensibility.

Among the more important of these rational emo¬
tions, self-approval and disapproval are prominent.
“ Self is a very agreeable object,” and upon it is
bestowed a large portion of our thought and atten¬
tion. When we find that our actions have been

SELF-APPROVAL, OR DISAPPROVAL. 263

meritorious, we naturally take a keen pleasure in
the contemplation of them. When they have been
the opposite of praiseworthy, we derive anything but
pleasure from thinking about them. So, when we
find that we possess qualities of mind, body, or spirit,
which are worthy of commendation, we are glad of
it, and rightly so. It is not wrong to be proud of
any good qualities we may be fortunate enough to
possess. It is held by some that a man ought
to be unconscious of his good qualities, abilities, etc.
The man who has any ability will surely have sense
enough to know it. He cannot help knowing it; if
he did not, he would, indeed, be a strange phenome¬
non. I never heard of such a person, and I do not
believe such a one ever existed, or ever can exist.
No, it is right and proper that every man should
carry all the pride that his actions and abilities will
support. But right there the limit should come. A
man should not overload himself with pride. He
has no right to be proud of qualities he does not
possess. The conceited man is contemptible ; he has
no right to let his pride carry him to the extent of
trespassing upon the rights and feelings of other
people. The arrogant, assuming, supercilious man is
also contemptible ; he has no right to give himself
up to affectation of any kind whatever. The proud
man treads a narrow path ; he must be honest, sin¬
cere, direct, unassuming, and must know just where
his merits end. It will not do to let his pride pass
beyond the foundation that he has for its support.

264 the emotions.

\

But when he treads that narrow path, he is the
finest sort of man. He is the man who will accom¬
plish something in the world, and leave it somewhat
the richer for his having lived in it.

One of the keenest griefs that a person can possibly
have, is the consciousness of his own unworthiness, and
especially of his own moral unworthiness. The ser¬
pent’s tooth of remorse digs very deep, and leaves a
very sharp sting. In the words of Dryden:

Nor sharp revenge, nor hell itself can find
A fiercer torment than a guilty mind.

Which day and night doth dreadfully accuse,

Condemns the wretch, and still the charge renews.

Remorse is bitterest in the noblest souls ; as Scott
has very finely said :

High minds of native pride and force

Most deeply feel thy pangs, remorse!

Fear for their scourge mean villains have;

Thou art the torturer of the brave.

THE LUDICROUS.

There are few kinder things which nature has done .
for us than the giving of. a sense of the ludicrous, the
ability to be amused, and to laugh. Without it, the
weary grind, grind, grind of the world’s business would,
after a time, become insufferably monotonous and tire¬
some. A good laugh is one of the best medicines a
man can take ; it cheers and revives him as nothing
else can. Those persons who never smile are much to

THE LUDICROUS. 265

be pitied ; and their lives must be as dreary as the
Sahara.

No full definition of this emotion will be offered;
everybody knows what it is, but it is extremely hard to
define, and most writers who have tried to do so have
only succeeded in darkening the matter.

Mirth is occasioned in two general ways, by blunders
and by intentional wit. Each of these may refer to
physical things, or to ideas. These classes do not,

perhaps, include every occasion for mirth, but certainly

>

very nearly all of them.

We laugh, for instance, at an extremely awkward
person, or at one dressed in an uncouth manner. We
could scarcely prevent a smile at seeing a dignified,
well-dressed gentleman fall flat in the mud ; we should
laugh outright if a conceited, over-dressed fop should
fall. Our risibles are very much affected at what is
called an “ Irish bull,” in which a person accidentally
says something ridiculous or impossible. So we laugh
when a person intends to say one thing and says
another ; intends a compliment, perhaps, and gives an
insult. A young lady talking with King George II.,
remarked that she had seen almost everything, but that
there was one sight she had never yet seen, which she
was very anxious to witness, and that was a coronation.
A gentleman, on being introduced to Mr. Longfellow,
desiring to say something complimentary, delivered him¬
self thus : “ Sir, I am rejoiced to meet you ; I am one of
the very few persons who have read your Evangeline.”
Another, in a similar manner, said to Mr. Tennyson,

266

THE EMOTIONS.

“ Ah, I have your poems, of course. I keep them in
my bedroom, and almost every night I go to sleep over
them.” So, with any blunder ; if it be not followed by
serious consequences, it is likely to provoke a laugh.

Of intentional wit concerning physical things, those
abominations known as “ practical jokes” are the best
examples. The witty use of ideas is the largest and
the proper field for humor. The varieties, from repar¬
tee, which is the highest, to punning, which is about
the lowest, are almost innumerable.

The use of humor and wit has already been indi¬
cated. It is the spice of life, and does as much as any-
thing else to make it endurable. But they have their
dangers also. Too many wits care only to exhibit
their powers, being not at all particular as to the object
upon which they exercise them, a course which leads to
a great deal of hard feeling. A man ought not to
wound the feelings of another merely because he can.
A witty, sarcastic word often cuts worse than a sword.
There is some danger, too, that the possessor of wit, if
his mind be not well balanced, may make it his idol,
and for its sake neglect things that are of more conse¬
quence. Properly used, however, it is the most effective
weapon to employ against folly and some species of
vice. For such purposes, it is a lancet that may be
used unsparingly and with the best results. A great
many persons are more amenable to ridicule than to
law, or any other of the restraining influences of society.
If a vice can be made to appear ridiculous, such persons
will be driven out of it. Rousseau says in his “ Con-

THE LUDICROUS.

267

fessions,” that it was not the wicked things he had
done that gave him most trouble to confess, but the
ridiculous ones.

t

SURPRISE.

The occurrence of any event unexpectedly arouses
in us the sensation known as surprise. Its effect is to
stimulate the mind to more vigorous action for the
time being, and in this way perhaps it becomes a pleas¬
ant emotion, for healthy action is always agreeable to a
mind not already wearied. Its use is to give more zest
to life, and relieve it of its sameness. It unites as an
element with the ludicrous and with other emotions,
more or less ; and whenever it is found with them, it
heightens the pleasure received from them. Another
purpose is possibly to give warning of approaching
■danger, and avoid it, by startling the mind into giving
increased attention to any unusual sights or sounds.

Its opposite is what the French call ennui , a feel¬
ing of uneasy wearisomeness at the tedious repiti-

V

tion of the same routine. The principal service which
emmi renders us is probably that of spurring us up to
greater exertions in order that we may rid ourselves of
the disagreeable sensation.

THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.

The emotion of pleasure at the sight of anything
either beautiful or sublime, is one of the highest
emotions we have. It is also one of those concerning
which many disputes are waged. Without stopping to

268

THE EMOTIONS.

prove it, let us take it for granted that qualities of
beauty and sublimity do reside in certain objects, and
that they awaken in us delightful sensations accord¬
ingly. The difference between the sublime and the
beautiful is hard to state in the form of definitions. A
few examples will show it better than any words can
tell it.

A gently rolling, well kept, grassy lawn, with here
and there a tree, is beautiful, but it is not in any sense
sublime. A rough, jagged, barren mountain is sublime,
but not beautiful. The countless hosts of stars, cov¬
ering the vast blue expanse of the heavens, form a
sight at once beautiful and sublime, and both in the
highest degree. A thing, then, may be beautiful alone,
or sublime alone, or it may be both. In general it
may be said that beauty conveys the idea of delicacy
and skill, while sublimity is majestic and strong. It is
thought by some that the term sublime can only be
applied to the works of nature : this I can scarcely
grant, although certainly the works of nature are more
sublime than anything man has ever produced, because
vaster and mightier. I cannot but think the “ Shy-
lock” sublime, and the description of hell in “ Paradise
Lost,” and a great many other passages in our own
and foreign literature. A great building, as St. Peters
in Rome, for instance, is sublime.

The beautiful calms us and soothes our spirits by
its deliciousness. The sublime, on the other hand,
agitates and oppresses us, though it is not less pleasing
than the beautiful — more so, perhaps. We are over-

THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 269

awed by the presence of a mightier power, we feel our
own weakness and insignificance, when gazing upon the
billows of the ocean, as they lash, and foam, and heave,
or upon the terrible cataract of the Niagara, or upon
the majestic, towering form of the Jungfrau. The
emotion of beauty and the conception of it are two
distinct things. We feel beauty without any special
thought. Then we may begin to reflect upon it, to
study it with a view of finding why it so affected us,
and thus get a clear conception of it as a beautiful
object. Again we may know that it is beautiful, that
it has been pronounced so by a great many competent
judges, that it fulfills all the requirements of beauty,
but, without being in any way moved by its loveliness.
This emotion is one which may be, and should be, cul¬
tivated. It is capable of very largely increasing the
enjoyment of life, and there are no dangers or excesses
to be avoided in the honest use of this power. We
should take every opportunity of seeing that which is
purely beautiful or sublime; it is an elevating and*
improving enjoyment.

REVERENCE.

Man has been called “the worshipping animal,” and
it is, indeed, a characteristic which would, alone, dis¬
tinguish him from animals. Wherever we go, in what¬
ever clime, or age, or country, where man is, there we
find shrines, and altars, and humble devotees in atti¬
tudes of worship. No tribe of human beings has ever
been found wholly without some form of worship, or

THE EMOTIONS.

2/0

some idea of a God. It is a universal and significant
seal of the divine nature of man that he should revere
and seek to draw near to the mysterious, the unknown,
the all-wise, the all-powerful, all-just and good, which
he feels is forever above him, ruling over him, and in
some mysterious way, shaping his destiny. Out of this
feeling in man has grown his most absurd and grovel¬
ling superstitions whenever he has ventured to adopt a
material form to represent the object of his reverence ;
and out of this feeling, when held in the realm of the
imagination, in the mind’s ideal of perfection, has
come, not idolatry, but the very highest aspirations,
the most noble and pure desires and ambitions.

Reverence, as the word is commonly used, applies to
other kinds of feeling as well as to that shown in forms
of worship. We reverence aged people, but it should
be noted that it is not simply their age alone that
commands our respect. The aged are our superiors
in wisdom, in experience and knowledge, and having
already lived long and useful lives, we, along with all
the world, owe them a debt of gratitude. The sight
of an aged person calls all these ideas to mind, and the
feeling of reverence is upon us. But how quickly this
feeling vanishes if we see that this person’s life has
been given to evil-doing and injustice to others, and in
place of reverence, comes pity or abhorrence. It is
plain that reverence harmonizes only with ideas of
justice, purity, right, the mysterious, the benevolent,
and the superior. Because of the elements of mystery
and superiority, the sight of the boundless and mighty

REVERENCE.

271

ocean, the calm broad canopy of the star-lit heavens,
the grand harmonies of divine music, or any thing that
begets within us mingled feelings of the sublime and
beautiful, brings us also, very near to reverence. ,

This emotion has been abused by some, and labeled
“superstition,” because it pays respect to the unknown
and the mysterious ; but seeing that the unknown is
limitless, and even eternity may possibly not fathom it,
may we not reasonably suppose that a uniformly wise
Nature has a good purpose to accomplish by this uni¬
versal and deep-rooted sentiment ? Even if we refuse
to recognize Revelation, certainly the lessons of history
are now broad enough to teach us that as man reveres
the pure, the just, the right, the benevolent, and all that
is beyond and above him, he will be bettered and enno¬
bled; and hence, reverence deserves a high place among
the essential elements of man’s nature.

\

he Affections.

lE have already seen that the affections were
| of two opposite kinds : love and hate. Of
| love, the principal varieties are love of
husband and wife, love of kindred, love
of friends, love of benefactors, and love of
home and country.

LOVE OF HUSBAND AND WIFE.

Of all loves, there is none so mighty as that
of a husband for his wife, and hers for him.
There are no other persons whose lives are so
intimately associated, whose interests are so
absolutely one. They are like two streams
that have united and formed another, broader,
deeper, greater in every way than either of them
was before ; and as, a little way below the junction, the
streams become so thoroughly united that the waters
of the one cannot be distinguished from those of the
other, so a man and his wife grow, or ought to grow,
together in mind and in spirit. Whatever affects the
husband, affects the wife, and in the same way. There
can be no discord between their best interests.

Their love is of a peculiar kind. There is no other

272

LOVE OF HUSBAND AND WIFE 273

in any way like it. It combines in itself, but in a
higher degree, the elements of confidence, intimacy,
etc., that go to make friendship ; the closest possible
union of interests ; that sort of love which grows out
of the difference in their constitutions ; and over all
is fixed the seal of law and society which binds them
together before the world, and makes the honor and
reputation of both demand that they should live
together in such a way as befits man and wife.

The wise and good of every age have left their
testimony in favor of the mutual love of one man with
one woman. Benjamin Franklin, who wrote strongly
in favor of the marital relation, became convinced at an
early period in his own life of the folly of bachelorhood,
and sought a partner in marriage. He made a faithful
husband and a kind father, and we see him, even in old
age, speaking mournfully of the death of the favorite
son of his early life, which died while yet a little child.
Though he was never an ardent lover, like the lovers
we like to read of in novels, he was a tender and con¬
siderate husband, of whom his wife was proud — in
whom his wife was happy. “We throve together,”
says Franklin, “and ever endeavored to make each
other happy.” It were well if all lovers of the ardent
description could say the same after a married life of
forty years. Their home, at first, was plain and frugal
in the extreme. A pure conjugal love needs no golden
trappings to make it blessed. “ We kept no idle
servants,” says Franklin; “our table was plain and

simple, our furniture of the cheapest. For instance,
18

THE AFFECTIONS.

274

my breakfast was, for a long time, bread and milk (no
tea), and I ate it out of a two-penny earthen porringer,
with a pewter spoon ; but mark how luxury will enter
families, and make a progress in spite of principle :
being called one morning to breakfast, I found it in a
china bowl, with a spoon of silver. They had been
bought for me without my knowledge by my wife, and
had cost her the enormous sum of three-and-twenty
shillings ; for which she had no other excuse or
apology to make, but that she thought her husband

deserved a silver spoon and china bowl as well as any

«

of his neighbors.”

LOVE OF KINDRED.

There are few attachments so strong as that which
subsists between kindred, especially between parent
and child. There is a dispute about the origin of this
attachment — as to whether it is inherent in our nature,
or is an outgrowth of relationship and the associations
imposed by it. It seems to be a combination of the
two. The germ of it is natural, but its growth and
full development are very largely the result of circum¬
stances. There are three principal kinds of relation¬
ship, and three principal kinds of affection growing
out of them — parental, filial, fraternal.

Of all these, the strongest and most enduring is the
parental. There is probably no other love so strong
as that of the parent for his child, except that of a hus¬
band and wife for each other. From the hour of his
birth, on through childhood, youth and manhood, the

YOUNG

AT HOME.

LOVE OF KINDRED.

2/5

child is the object of the tenderest and most anxious
solicitude on the part of the parent. No hardship is
so severe that the parent will not willingly undergo it
for the sake of his offspring. He will cheerfully go to
the extent of laying down his own life, that his child
may live and be happy. Indeed, his love seems to
grow with the demands made upon it. The child
which receives the tenderest love is probably the
poor, weakly one whose health and welfare have to be
most constantly guarded, and whose frail constitution
seems liable to break down at any moment. The
rugged, proud-spirited, independent child, who is able
to take care of himself, is the one who generally gets
the smallest share of affection. As compared with
each other, the mother’s love is doubtless stronger than
the father’s. No other, not even that of husband and
wife, is so patient and enduring. Coldness, lack of
appreciation, and breach of marital vows, will usually
chill the affection of a married pair ; not so the
mother’s for her son or daughter. The son may be
most ungrateful and cruel ; he may beat and rob his
mother in his drunken frenzy ; he may be a criminal of
the worst class, and an ontcast from society; still the
mother’s love does not forsake him ; she meets each
fresh outrage with renewed forgiveness and bestowal
of confidence. It is almost always the mother who
stands with pleading voice between the erring child
and angry, outraged father. It rarely happens that
the child is disinherited and cast out of his ancestral
home by the mother. She could not find it in her

276

THE AFFECTIONS.

heart to resort to such harsh extremes. Whether this
is a result of constitutional differences, or whether it
grows out of the closer companionship which the
mother has with her children, and the greater amount
of care and pain she is compelled to undergo on their
account, I am not prepared to say.

Next in strength to parental affection is filial — that
of child to parent. There is no more beautiful sight
than that of a young person leaning with affectionate,
reverent trust upon the parents who gave him birth,
unless it be that of the same child, after he has attained
to his full powers, and his father and mother have
grown old and feeble, carefully and lovingly supporting
their declining years, and neglecting nothing which can
conduce to their comfort and convenience. Far too
often we find the direct opposite of this : the rude, inso¬
lent, disobedient young child, and the cold, unloving,
neglectful older one — a pitiful sight, and one con¬
demned by the unanimous voice of the world.

As the relationship existing between brothers and
sisters is not so close as that between parent and child,
their mutual affection is not generally so strong or so
lasting. Nevertheless it ought to be, and it often is, a
bond of great tenderness and beauty. Young people
need bosom friends, confidants, and it is well for them
if a brother or sister, whose interest in them is genuine,
pure and unselfish, can occupy that position. Those
young men and women who have brothers and sisters
that take an affectionate interest in them, and in whom
they may always repose the utmost confidence, are

LOVE OF KINDRED.

277

much less likely than others to stray from the paths of
rectitude ; their chances are much better for living
happy, fruitful lives.

LOVE OF FRIENDS,

“Poor is the friendless master of a world:

A world in purchase of a friend, is gain.” — Young.

“ Happy he who finds a friend whose heart and
spirit are congenial to him ; a friend who unites himself
to him by a conformity of tastes, of sentiments, and of
knowledge ; a friend who is not tormented by ambition
or interest; — who prefers the shade of a tree rather
than the pomp of a court! — happy he who possesses
a friend ! ” — De Maistre .

In all ages of the world, friendship has been held to
be one of the most beautiful affections. The names
and deeds of Damon and Pythias, of Syracuse, will
doubtless be remembered and praised as long as the
slightest vestige of Grecian history remains in the
minds of men. And, indeed, what could be holier and
more admirable than pure, disinterested, self-sacrificing
friendship, such as theirs ? Something must be lacking
in the man who can pass through life, surrounded by
thousands of people, and yet have no friends. A
complete man irresistibly attracts people unto him.
A mutual affection, in the highest degree pleasant and
profitable, springs up between him and those by whom
he is surrounded.

It may be worth while to inquire somewhat into the

278

THE AFFECTIONS.

nature of friendship ; and first, into the elements which
compose it. The first is acquaintanceship. Generally?
friendship is a plant of slow growth, though there may
be occasional cases of friendship at first sight, as there
are of love at first sight. Long acquaintance acts in
two principal ways to produce and increase friendship.
We can always find something in a man’s nature to
admire, if we know him well, enough. No one is utterly
destitute of attractive qualities, and the more of these
we discover in any man, the more likely we are to
entertain a friendship for him. Again, with the lapse
of time spent together, the community of knowledge
and experience grows greater ; there is a larger com¬
mon ground for intercourse. Anyone who has seen two
old people, who formerly lived in the same village, had
the same friends, and passed through the same experi¬
ences, talk for hours about old times, will know what
this means. Says Horace Walpole: “Old friends are
the great blessings of one’s latter years. Half a word
conveys one’s meaning. They have memory of the
same events, and have the same mode of thinking. I
have my young relations that may grow upon me, for
my nature is affectionate, but can they grow old
friends? My age forbids that. Still less, can they
grow companions. Is it friendship to explain half one
says ? One must relate the history of one’s memory

1

and idkas ; and what is that to the young but old
stories?” “The friend whom we have long- and inti-
mately known,” says Haven ; “the friend of other, and
earlier, and, it may be, .happier years, is intimately

LOVE OF FRIENDS.

2/9

connected with 'our own history. His life and our own
have run side by side, or rather, like vines springing’
from separate roots, have intertwined their branches
until they present themselves as one to the eye. It
is this close connection of my friend with whatever
pertains to myself, of his history with my history, and
his life with my life, that contributes a great measure
of the regard and interest I feel for him. He has
become, as it were, a part of < myself. The thought
of him awakens in my mind pleasing remembrances,
and is associated with agreeable conceptions of the
walks, the studies, the sports, the varied enjoyments
and the varied sorrows that we have shared together.”

Besides this of long acquaintance, there are other
elements equally necessary. As the excellent De
Maistre indicated, in the passage quoted above, there
must be some “ conformity of tastes, of sentiments, and
of knowledge.” There must be some common ground
upon which they can meet. I do not see how it would
be possible for the business man who knows nothing
but his trade, and the farmer who knows nothing but
his farm, to form a friendship. If they had, over and
above their business, a common love for some kind of
sport, or for some outside branch of knowledge, or
anything else, then friendship would be very possible.
Neither do I think it would be possible that any friend¬
ship should exist between the scholar of refined and
moral habits, and the uncouth ragamuffin, or the man
who gives himself up to debauchery. Scholars, busi¬
ness men, farmers, mechanics, fops, bummers, all classes

28o

THE AFFECTIONS.

of men, will generally form their friendships within
their own ranks — not always, however.

On the other hand, there must not be too great a
conformity in the tastes and opinions and knowledge
of friends. Nothing is so tiresome as conversation with
a person who agrees with you in everything. There is
nothing to give it zest and life. More than that, every
one is deficient in something, and there is a natural
tendency in all persons to supply this deficiency as far
as possible, by association with those who possess, in a
large degree, the very qualities lacking in themselves.
Hence the well known fact that people usually marry
their opposites ; it comes from a feeling of a lack of
completeness, and a desire to make themselves more
nearly complete.

Another essential to friendship is respect. I could
feel no friendship for a man or woman whom I could
not thoroughly respect and admire. There are many
things which might occasion this admiration ; we may
esteem a ,man for his native genius, for his learning,
for his honesty and good morals, for his piety, for
his courage, for his physical power, and a thousand
other things. But some of these he must have in
order to produce esteem, and without esteem there
can be no friendship.

A dispute has been handed down to us from antiq¬
uity, as to whether it is possible for a man to feel
a high degree of friendship for each of a great many
people at the same time. I incline to think not. He
may have a friendly feeling for them all, and wish them

LOVE OF FRIENDS.

281

well, but I think he will scarcely feel that close degree
of friendship which makes a man willing to make great
sacrifices for the sake of the love he bears his friend.
Two of the keenest observers and thinkers of all
time were Moliere and Aristotle. Moliere says that
“ Esteem is founded upon some preference, and to
esteem all the world is not to esteem anything.” Aris¬
totle says: “He who hath many friends, hath none.”
There is a Spanish proverb which asserts that “a friend
to everybody is a friend to nobody.” It is a general
principle in physics, and, perhaps, also in metaphysics,
that whatever is spread out over a great extent of
surface, must of necessity be thinner than if confined
within narrower limits. Of course some persons are
capable of more affection than others ; but it may be
believed that the same person’s love for a friend will
always be stronger if he has only a few friends, than
if he has many.

Genuine friendship should not be much affected by
change of circumstances. For example, a true friend
will not turn the cold shoulder to a man who has been
unfortunate enough to lose his property, or whose good
name has been assailed by calumny. There is this,
however : friendship is not generally proof against
lono- absence without communication. Moreover, as

o

has been remarked, it requires, as a basis, some degree
of unison in habits, condition, etc. Now, when a man
loses his property and becomes poor, it generally
changes his mode of life in such a way that he is not
brought into contact with his former friends. Hence

282

THE AFFECTIONS.

the element of association disappears. His manners
and character usually change somewhat, along with
his outward circumstances. He loses the current of
feeling and thought in his old circle, and gets into
that of a new one. Thus friends, sincere and honest
friends, may and do, often unconsciously grow apart,
after a change in the outward circumstances of either.
It is folly to denounce all the former friends of such a
man as hollow, selfish, and mercenary, merely because
the old associations are not now maintained ; and it is
not only folly, but rank injustice. There is just as
much sincere, honest friendship among the rich as
among the poor.

LOVE OF BENEFACTORS.

This bears some resemblance to friendship, and
generally leads to friendship in cases where the latter
does not already exist. The distinctive element in love
of benefactors is gratitude — thankfulness for favors
conferred. Our gratitude seems to be not so much
regulated by the nature of the favor as by the char¬
acter and motives of the one who confers it. If one
man should give us a large sum of money of which
we stood in great need, giving it for the sake of
some benefit to accrue to himself by that act, we
should not feel nearly so grateful to him as to
another who might loan us a smaller sum out of
pure good will to us. In fact, in the first case we
should feel little, if any, gratitude ; in the other, the
feeling would be quite strong.

LOVE OF HOME AND COUNTRY. 2S3

LOVE OF HOME AND COUNTRY.

The source of the love of home and of country
is a little difficult to trace. Perhaps the principal
^element may be the one of association that we have
met with so often already. A man’s home, and in
a broader, looser way, his country, is linked in mem¬
ory with everything he holds most dear : his friends,
his happy childhood, his plans for the future, his
disappointments — everything.

u It is strange how the soul’s tendrils cling to the spot
That has witnessed our fullness of sorrow or joy;

But cling there they will, and desert they will not,

Though our lives may have drifted afar from the scene.”

One noticeable fact in connection with this subject
is that our love of home or country is very little
affected by the physical desirability of them. The
poor man loves his leaky, crazy, tottering cottage as
■well, perhaps better, than the rich man loves his
magnificent palace ; and he gets fully as much happi¬
ness out of it. The Greenlander loves his cold and
sterile land better than the inhabitants of the fertile
southern plains love theirs. Indeed, it seems to be
almost a eeneral rule that dwellers in a barren, mount-
ainous, inhospitable region, are more patriotic than
those who are blest with every rich gift of nature.
Moreover, when a country is in its infancy and can
■offer but few advantages, its people seem inspired with
a warmer fire of patriotism than afterward, when it has

284

THE AFFECTIONS.

grown rich and powerful, and has made its flag to be
respected upon all the waters of the globe. There is,
however, something that steps in to take the place
of real love of country, and that is national pride.
Napoleon inspired his soldiers with his own enthu¬
siasm by reminding them that forty centuries looked
down upon them from the summits of the pyramids
near them. Whatever an Englishman, or a French¬
man, or an Italian does, he is watched by centuries
agone, whose high honor it is his duty to sustain.

There can be no doubt that ignorance tends to keep
alive patriotism, at least patriotism of the intense,
bigoted sort, which thinks there is but one civilized
country in the world, and that all other lands are
peopled by barbarians. The nations are separated by a
difference of language, manners, and interests, and of
location and history. The educated man surmounts
many of these obstacles and grows to feel a sympathy
for other nations. He sees whatever greatness there
is in their character, and his prejudice against them
disappears. He thus becomes somewhat of a cos¬
mopolite, a citizen of the world, and his love for his
own country is called into active life only when there
is real occasion for it.

The love of home is an attachment of peculiar
strength. The fact has already been noticed that
Swiss soldiers in foreign service are rendered useless
by homesickness, whenever they hear the familiar
mountain airs, known as the “ Ranz des Vaches ”
played. Even beggars, the last persons one would

LOVE OF HOME AND COUNTRY.

2$5

think of as likely to become very much attached to
their homes, have been known to die of homesickness.

Iate.

We now come to those affections which are the
opposite of love, and which we have classed as hate.
The principal modifications are jealousy, envy, and
revenge. They all spring out of the principle of
resentment.

It has been thought by some that there is no such
principle as resentment in our nature. I believe, how¬
ever, that its existence is generally conceded. Men,
women, and children, in all conditions of society, from
the most savage to the most refined, exhibit this feeling
whenever they have received a real or fancied injury.
The child betrays the presence of anger long before it
becomes amenable to reason, and before it could have
acquired it as an imitative habit, from seeing its work¬
ings in older people. Animals also seem to be subject
to its laws. From these facts it certainly would seem
that we possess this faculty of resentment, and that it
was implanted in our bosoms by nature, that it is
instinctive. The reason of its existence is quite easy
to be seen. Without it, we should have no sufficient
safeguard against the encroachments of selfish and

o o

designing men, and of that class popularly denominated
“bullies.” And especially, were it not for this principle
and sympathy working together, a weak man attacked
by a strong one would find no protection among other

1

f

286 THE AFFECTIONS.

men. Reason would act too slowly in the former caser
and cold, cautious prudence would probably forbid all
interference in the latter. There is needed something'
quicker and instinctive in its nature, which shall prompt
us to action before reason can make up its mind, and
in opposition, sometimes, to the dictates of selfish pru¬
dence. This we have in resentment, or indignation,
with its varied forms.

Though resentment is instinctive in its character, it
is often brought under control of the will and the
rational powers. To illustrate : suppose a man insults
you, and you instantly and without any thought of the
consequences, knock him down ; this is purely instinctive
resentment. Suppose, however, that instead of striking
him, you restrain your hand and go away, and there¬
after seek opportunities to- do him harm by slandering
him, or destroying his property, or in any other way ;
this would be revenge, and would be a deliberate act,
regulated by the rational powers, though it originated
in an instinctive feeling.

ENVY.

Envy is a feeling which some people harbor toward
their fellows who seem to be prospering better than
they. It is an attribute of the lowest order of minds
only. The great and noble are never troubled with
the accursed feeling which begrudges their neighbor his
good fortune. Jeremy Collier says: “ Envy is an ill-
natured vice, and is made up of meanness and malice.
It wishes the force of goodness to be strained, and the

ENVY.

287

measure of happiness to be abated. It laments over
prosperity, and sickens at the sight of health.” It is
probably strongest when the envious and the envied
belong to the same rank in society ; but I do not
believe, with some, that it is never exhibited under
other circumstances. I think the spirit of communism,
and the general restlessness which has so widely pre¬
vailed among the poorer classes for the past few years,
are a very striking proof to the contrary. The street
loafer who is too lazy to do anything for himself, thinks
that the capitalist who, by industry and economy, has
amassed a fortune, should be compelled to share it
equally with him. A more envious and more superla¬
tively foolish and contemptible idea never entered the
head of mortal man.

JEALOUSY.

Jealousy is akin to envy in its nature. It is
generally an outgrowth of love between the sexes, and
is simply envy of one who seemingly succeeds better
than we in winning the affections of a person whom we
ourselves love. It is not so base as ordinary envy, as
there seems to be something about the love of men
and women which makes it natural. It is often an
accompaniment of the deepest and most passionately
earnest love ; indeed, it is claimed by some philoso¬
phers that a person not of a naturally jealous tempera¬
ment, is incapable of true love. It is one of the most
consuming passions — for it generally grows into a
passion — to which the human race is liable. “ Green-

283

THE AFFECTIONS.

eyed jealousy,” has been the abhorrence of poets and
lovers in all ages. It probably causes more murders
and suicides than any other two passions.

REVENGE.

The moral character of resentment has been the
subject of considerable discussion. It has been, of
course, generally agreed that deliberate resentment,
such as envy, jealousy, and revenge, is morally bad, an
unmitigated evil. On the other hand, it has been
pretty generally held that immediate, instinctive resent¬
ment has no moral quality, good or bad. It is thought
that it is involuntary, and hence can have nothing to
do with goodness or badness. This I am disposed to
admit with regard to the feeling itself in the abstract.
But farther than this, I can scarcely go. It is in the
power of the person of thorough moral cultivation to
restrain the outward manifestations of this resentment ;
and, hence, to give way to impulse, and assault, or
insult, or otherwise attack the offender, must have
some moral quality. It will be generally conceded that
the quality, if there be any, is bad. At the same time,
that fault is evidently not nearly so culpable as deliber¬
ate revenge, because it is not so much an affair of the
reason and Will — the responsible powers of mind.

Ihe

ESI RE has its origin in the absence, present
or anticipated, of an object which we have
in any way learned to love. The object of
desire is generally, if not always, something
the beauty or utility of which we have in
some degree experienced. Our experience
may have been quite limited, and may be
supplemented by imagination, the report of
others, and in various other ways, or it may have
been complete in itself. The strength of the desire
is proportioned to the affection we have formed for
the object.

The opposite of desire is aversion, and is acquired
in the reverse way. We have learned to dislike an
object which is absent, or whose absence we hope for.
The word aversion is, however, used in a different
sense from the present one — merely to denote dislike
or hate for an object, either absent or present.

As to the purpose of desire, John Locke says:

/

“The uneasiness a man feels in himself upon the
absence of anything, whose present enjoyment carries
the idea of delight with it, is that we call desire ;
which is greater or less as that uneasiness is more or

less vehement. Where, by-the-by, it may perhaps be
19 289

290

THE DESIRES.

of some use to remark, that the chief, if not the only
spur to human industry and action, is uneasiness. For
whatever good is proposed, if its absence carries no
displeasure or pain with it, if a man be easy and con¬
tent without it, there is no desire of it, nor endeavor
after it; there is no more but a bare velleity — the
term used to signify the lowest degree of desire, and
that which is next to none at all, when there is so
little uneasiness in the absence of any thing that it
carries a man no farther than some faint wishes for
it, without any more effectual or vigorous steps being
taken to attain it.”

The desires are of two classes : those of the body,
springing from the animal nature (sometimes called
appetites), and those of the mind — in other words, the
animal desires, and the rational desires. The position
the desires hold in making up the Sensibilities, is
shown in the analysis, on page 254, but another of
the desires alone is here presented :

Food.

Animal. <

Action.

Sex.

The Desires. <

' Happiness.
Knowledge.
Power.
Rational. < Money.

Superiority.

Society.
w Esteem.

ANIMAL DESIRES.

29I

JInimal Desires.

The most important of the animal desires, and the
designs of each, are these. The desire of food leads us
to keep our system supplied with that which is so
essential to its maintenance. By the desire for action,
we are induced to take the necessary amount of physi¬
cal exercise. The desire for rest warns us not to over¬
task our powers of endurance. The sexual desire was
bestowed upon us that we might not neglect to keep
alive our species. These various desires are all wise
provisions. Without them, we should often neglect the
most vital interests of our nature. The rush of busi¬
ness, the love of money, and other things, would con¬
stantly operate to the injury of our health, even far
more than they now do. It is foolish affectation, or
at the very least, unwise for us to look down upon
our physical desires in a spirit of scornful disgust. The
mind cannot reach its full power unless it is supported
by a good body, and even if it would, the body is in
itself a most wonderful thing, worthy of all respect and
admiration.

But there is also a dark side to this matter, as to
every other. The desires of the body are quite likely
to grow into passions unless vigorously ruled by the
mind ; and a person governed by his animal passions
is a sad spectacle indeed. His capacity for good is
almost utterly destroyed. He occupies a plane much
lower than that of the brutes, for they habitually

292

THE DESIRES.

exercise moderation in all such things. Besides, in
the words of another: “It seems to be the law
of our nature, that while our active principles gain
strength from exercise, the degree of enjoyment or
suffering which they are capable of affording dimin¬
ishes by repetition.” This has been clearly stated by
Mr. Stewart. It follows from this, that while by long
and undue indulgence of any of the animal desires,
the gratification originally derived from such indul¬
gence is no longer capable of being enjoyed, the
desire itself may be greatly increased, and constantly
increasing in its demands. It is hardly possible to
conceive a condition more wretched and miserable
than that of a mind compelled thus to drain the
bitter dregs of its cup of pleasure, long since quaffed,
and to repeat in endless round the follies that no
longer have power to satisfy, even for the briefest
moment, the poor victim of their enchantment. The
drunkard, the glutton, the debauchee, afford illustra¬
tions of this principle.

ATIONAL

HAPPINESS.

Of all the desires which grow out of our mental
constitution, by far the most important and wide-
reaching in its effects, is the desire of our own personal
happiness, sometimes called self-love — a name, how¬
ever, which is liable to be misunderstood, because it

RATIONAL DESIRES.

293

has been confounded with selfishness, and hence con¬
veys a meaning which does not belong to it in this
instance.

Much the larger part of all the actions, of whatever
moral quality, which we perform in this world, are the
results, either direct or indirect, of this principle. It
has been thought by many that it is the foundation of

all our actions, even those of charity and sympathy.
As I .have had occasion to say elsewhere, I cannot sub¬
scribe to this opinion. I believe that considerations of
self are by no means the only ones which exercise a
motive influence upon the human mind ; and that we
do a great many things from inspirations wholly gen¬
erous in their nature.

Perhaps because of the confusion existing between
the terms selfishness and self-love, some writers have
held this principle to be a sinful one, and have taught
the doctrine that all holiness required constant denial
and mortification of self. But surely we were never
created with desires and appetites, the moderate gratifi¬
cation of which, under proper circumstances, is wrong.
Surely we were never put into this world with capabili¬
ties for happiness such as we possess, only to lure us
into evil and the path to eternal punishment, as has
been thought by some. Such an idea is, to my mind,
absurd, if not blasphemous. Certainly it would over¬
turn the conception which most Christians have of
their Creator — an all-powerful, all-wise, just, and mer¬
ciful God

The desire for life and health is only one of the

i

294 THE desires.

manifestations of this general desire. So are, perhaps,
the desire of knowledge, the desire of power, with
its resultant desires of money and superiority, the
desire of society, etc. So numerous and important
are the applications of some of these particular desires
that we shall nevertheless treat of them under separate
headings.

DESIRE OF KNOWLEDGE.

One of the most beautiful, as well as one of the
most useful, of our desires, is the desire of knowl¬
edge. It shows itself in the child in the form of
round-eyed curiosity — a desire to comprehend all the
new and strange which it sees about it. Later, it
changes its form somewhat. It begins to flow in a
narrower channel, but with a deeper and swifter cur¬
rent. Recognizing the impossibility of knowing every¬
thing, the man confines his attention mostly to certain
branches of study, and in his chosen department he
labors constantly for more and better knowledge.
This desire, like all others, is more intense in some
persons than in others, but probably it is not entirely
absent in any.

As it is, this desire for knowledge that has ulti¬
mately caused nearly all the great inventions, and the
perhaps still more important discoveries of abstract
principles, we cannot but regard as one of the high¬
est and most useful attributes of the human mind ;
one that will gradually unlock more and more of the
secrets of nature, and make them tributary to man.

DESIRE OF POWER.

295

DESIRE OF POWER.

There are few things that have so great an influence
upon a man’s life and character, and so upon the course
of the world’s affairs, as the love of power and the desire
to possess it. There is no one who does not feel it in
one form or another. “I can ,” is probably the most
exhilarating sentence in the English language. The
child must feel a new and very pleasurable sensation
when it first acquires the ability to walk. The lad that
has learned to skate and handle his bat and ball well,
feels considerably taller than he did before. The young
student who can study out a page of Cicero in an hour,
feels himself to be a king among men. And the man
who can command the services of other men, and see •
his opinions and desires become effective, derives there¬
from a stern, deep satisfaction.

This principle of desire of power is more or less
mingled with various other desires : as desire of knowl¬
edge, desire of liberty, desire of money, and desire of
superiority ; while it seems to be itself an offshoot of the
general desire for happiness and well-being. It is par¬
tially the love of power that leads the scholar to toil at
his books ; it buoys up the statesman, sick of the tur¬
moils of political life, and the disappointments and
troubles that unavoidably surround every one who is
working in any manner for the public ; it leads nations
into war, and is the actuating principle of the armies
that fight the battles of power. Everywhere we see
the results of this thirst after power. Without it, the

296

THE DESIRES.

world would be comparatively peaceful, but it would
also be stale and lifeless in the extreme.

DESIRE OF MONEY.

“That influence over others which power implies,”
writes one, “ and which is, to some extent, commanded
by superiority of personal strength or prowess, by
genius, by skill, by the various arts and address of
life, or by the accident of birth and hereditary station,
is still more directly and generally attainable, by
another, and perhaps a shorter route — the possession
of wealth. This, as the world goes, is the key that
unlocks, the sceptre that controls all things. Personal
prowess, genius, address, station, the throne itself, are,
in no inconsiderable degree, dependent upon money,
and its command. He who has this can well afford to
dispense with most other goods and gifts of fortune ;
so far, at least, as concerns the possession of power.
He may be neither great, nor learned, nor of noble
birth ; neither elegant in person nor accomplished in
manners, distinguished neither for science, nor virtue ;
he may command no armies, he may sit upon no
throne ; yet with all his deficiencies, and even his vices,
if so he have wealth, he has power. Unnumbered
hands are ready to task their skill at his bidding,
unnumbered arms to move and toil and strive in his
service, unnumbered feet hasten to and fro on his
errands. He commands the skill and labor of multi¬
tudes whom he has never seen, and who know him not.
In distant quarters of the globe, the natives of other

DESIRE OF MONEY.

297

zones and climes hasten upon his errands ; swift ships
traverse the seas for him ; the furs of the extreme
north, the rich woods and spices of the tropics, the
silks of India, the pearls and gems of the east — what¬
ever is costly, curious, and rare, whatever can contribute
to the luxury and pride of man — these are his, and for
him. No wonder that he who desires power, should
desire that which is one of the chief avenues and means
to the attainment of power, and that what is valued, at
first, rather as an instrument than as an end, should
presently come to be regarded and valued for its own
sake.”

A properly regulated love — or respect, rather — of
money is a very useful and admirable trait. The lack
of it leads a great many people into disagreeable posi¬
tions at times. It is the cause of half the pauperism
and wretched poverty of the world ; it is usually the
cause of a family’s getting into what is termed
“straitened circumstances.” There is no one, pos¬
sessed of good health and good sense, who may not,
if he will, soon place himself where want, under
ordinary circumstances, cannot reach him. A failure
to do this usually springs from either laziness or
improvidence, though it sometimes has more honor¬
able causes. Only a few evenings ago I overheard a
young man, pretty well advanced toward intoxication,
talking about a fellow-workman, for whom he evidently
entertained some dislike. Said he, “ I get fifty dollars
a month, and he gets only forty-five dollars. I hardly
ever’ have money enough to pay my board; he always

298

THE DESIRES.

has money on hand. It would almost kill him to lose
a nickel.” Then he and his companion in drink
heartily agreed that they “ had no use for such a
fellow.” Probably not — but “such a fellow” may
possibly have use for them ten years hence, when he
is proprietor of a large business establishment, and
they are still workmen for wages. But there is danger
that the money-lover may degenerate into the miser.
Love of money is one of the most absorbing of all the
passions. The man who gets thoroughly in love with
gold rarely stops until he reaches the point where he
loves nothing else ; it becomes the one aim of his life
to heap useless dollars upon dollars — useless because
he will not and cannot use them ; and a man of that
kind is truly a subject for pity.

A remarkable feature of the passion for money,
is that it keeps growing stronger and stronger in old
age, after other passions have perished. To use the
words of Dr. Brown : “ In the contemplation of many
of the passions that rage in the heart with greatest
fierceness, there is some comfort in the thought that,
violent as they may be for a time, they are not to rage
through the whole course of life, at least if life be pro¬
longed to old age ; that the agitation which at every
period will have some intermissions, will grow gradually
less as the body grows more weak, and that the mind
will at least derive from this very feebleness a repose
which it could not enjoy when the vigor of the bodily
frame seemed to give to the passion a corresponding
vigor. It is not in avarice, however, that this soothing

DESIRE OF MONEY.

299

influence of age is to be found. It grows with our
growth and with our strength ; but it strengthens also
with our very weakness. There are no intermissions
in the anxieties which it keeps awake ; and every year,
instead of lessening its hold, seems to fix it more
deeply within the soul itself, as the bodily covering
around it slowly moulders away. * * * The heart

which is weary of everything else, is not weary of covet¬
ing more gold ; the memory which has forgotten every
thing else, continues still, as Cato says, in Cicero’s
dialogue, to remember where its gold is stored ; the eye
is not dim to gold that is dim to everything beside ; the
hand which it seems an effort to stretch out and fix
upon anything, appears to gather new strength from
the very touch of the gold which it grasps, and has
still vigor enough to lift once more, and count once
more, though a little more slowly, the money that has
been its happiest occupation to lift and count for a
period of years far longer than the ordinary life of man.
When the relations, or other expectant heirs gather
around his couch, not to comfort, nor even to seem to
comfort, but to await, in decent mimicry of solemn
attendance, that moment which they rejoice to view
approaching ; the dying eye can still send a jealous
glance to the coffer near which it trembles to see,

o

though it scarcely sees, so many human forms assem¬
bled ; and that feeling of jealous agony, which follows
and outlasts the obscure vision of floating forms that
are scarcely remembered, is at once the last misery and
the last feeling of life.”

300

THE DESIRES.

AMBITION, OR DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY.

Scarcely an individual anywhere, is wholly devoid
of desire to excel his fellows. The school-boy, in
the class-room and upon the play-ground, is actuated
by this impulse. The business man tries to lead his
neighbor in the amount of his yearly business ; each
preacher wants the largest congregation ; each lawyer
or doctor, the largest practice ; nations are moved by
this desire, and by the tricks of diplomacy, or the force
of arms, try to outstrip their rivals in the race for
power. Even among the brutes, the same principle
is constantly working.

There has been a tendency to regard ambition as
an evil part of human nature. It is true that ambi¬
tion often becomes inordinate, and passes its true
limits, when, of course, it exercises a harmful influ¬
ence. But in that it only does what all other prin¬
ciples in our nature do. Excessive greed for money
is an unmitigated evil ; so is an excessive appetite
for food, for almost anything, indeed. But the fact
that an excess of anything is bad, does not lessen
its value when held in moderation. Nor is ambition
always and necessarily associated with envy, though
certainly it is very often found mixed with that base
alloy. Envy grudges a rival his success, and wishes
to pull him down to its own level. Ambition grants
him his success, and is glad he has it, but wishes to
equal or surpass it. “ Emulation is a good thing,”
says Aristotle, “and belongs to good men; envy is

AMBITION, OR DESIRE OF SUPERIORITY. 301

bad, and belongs to bad men. What a man is emulous
of he strives to attain, that he may really possess the
desired object ; the envious are satisfied if nobody
has it.”

Valuable as the incentives of ambition are to the
human race, it must be kept within due bounds. When
allowed to dominate, there is no passion which can do
so enormous an amount of evil in the world. The
unbridled ambition of great military chieftains has more
than once deluged the earth with blood. It is no
uncommon thing for the personal ambition of a sover¬
eign to bring on a terrible war. The ambition of our
great money kings crushes hundreds of less powerful
men, and drives many of them in despondency to strong

drink, and even to suicide. There is danger that

\

envy and ill-will toward those whom we regard as rivals
and competitors with us, for those honors and rewards
which lie in our path, shall be permitted to mingle with
the desire to excel. Indeed, so frequently are the two
conjoined, that to the reflecting and sensitive mind,
superiority itself almost ceases to be desirable, since it
is but too likely to be purchased at the price of the
good-will, and kind feeling, of those less fortunate,
or less gifted, than ourselves.

DESIRE OF SOCIETY.

At an early period in the life of an infant, the desire
for society manifests itself. The little child of a year
will cry for companionship ; and it never loses its desire
for any length of time. The animals also, as a rule,

302

THE DESIRES.

are fond of the society of their own species. Most
wild animals, as bison, antelopes, and horses, habitually
live in herds; so with birds. In man, the feeling is
usually a very strong one, as the following anecdotes
will show.

During the reign of Louis XIV., a French noble¬
man was kept in close confinement in the castle of
Piguerol for several years. In his solitude he amused
himself by watching the movements of a spider which
had made its home in his cell ; and became so much
attached to it that his grief was of the deepest and
sincerest character when the keeper, discovering his
amusement, killed the spider. Baron Trench sought
to alleviate the wretchedness of his long imprisonment
by cultivating the acquaintance or friendship of a
mouse, which in turn manifested a strong attachment
to him, played about his person, and took its food from
his hand. The fact having been discovered by the
officers, the mouse was removed to the guardroom, but
managed to find its way back to the prison door, and,
at the hour of visitation, when the door was opened,
ran into the dungeon, and manifested the greatest
delight at finding its master. Being subsequently
removed and placed in a cage, it pined, refused all sus¬
tenance, and in a few days died. Rev. Henry C. Trum¬
bull having preached a kind and sympathetic sermon
to the convicts in a prison, was afterward sent for by
one of the prisoners, who asked : “ Did you mean what
you said about sympathizing with us ? ” Being answered
in the affirmative, the prisoner continued. “ I am here

DESIRE OF SOCIETY.

303

for life, but I can stay more contentedly, now, that I
know I have a brother out in the world.” It is said that
the man’s subsequent behavior was so good that he was
pardoned, and that he died during the civil war, thank¬
ing God to the last for the kind sympathy of the minis¬
ter. Silvio Pellico, the Italian poet, who was kept for
ten years a political prisoner by the Austrians, when
forbidden to converse with his fellow-prisoner, gave
this stirring answer, which shows how strong the desire
for society was with him: “I shall do no such thing!
I shall speak as long as I have breath, and invite my
neighbor to talk to me. If he refuse, I will talk to my
window bars. I will talk to the hills before me. I will
talk to the birds as they fly about. I will talk ! ” He
relieved the tedium of his imprisonment in a manner
similar to that employed by the French nobleman
mentioned above.

Some years ago, the state of New York tried the
experiment of solitary confinement. The result is thus
given by Messrs. Beaumont and Tocqueville, appointed
commissioners by the French government to examine
the American system of prison discipline: “This trial,
from which so happy a result had been anticipated,
was fatal to the greater part of the convicts ; in order
to reform them, they had been subjected to complete
isolation ; but this absolute solitude, if nothing inter¬
rupts it, is beyond the strength of man ; it destroys
the criminal without intermission and without pity ; it
does not reform, it kills. The unfortunates on whom
this experiment was made, fell into a state of depres-

304

THE DESIRES.

sion so manifest that their keepers were struck with it ;
their lives seemed in danger if they remained longer
in this situation ; five of them had already succumbed
during a single year; their moral state was no less
alarming ; one of them had become insane, another, in
a fit of despair, had embraced the opportunity, when
the keeper brought him something, to precipitate him¬
self from his cell, running the almost certain chance of
a mortal fall.”

Byron’s “ Prisoner of Chillon,” a poem based on the
sad story of Francois de Bonivard and his brothers,
in the Castle of Chillon, Switzerland, is a splendidly
terrible picture of the horrors of close confinement.
I cannot forbear quoting from it, commencing after
the death of his last brother :

What next befell me then and there
I know not well — I never knew —

First came the loss of light, and air,

And then of darkness, too:

I had no thought, no feeling — none;

Among the stones I stood a stone, ✓

And was, scarce conscious whaq I wist,

As shrubless crags within the mist;

For all was blank, and bleak, and gray,

It was not night — it was not day;

It was not e’en the dungeon light,

So hateful to my heavy sight;

But vacancy, absorbing space,

And fixedness — without a place.

There were no stars, no earth, no time,

No check, no change, no good, no crime,

But silence, and a stirless breath
Which neither was of life nor death;

A sea of stagnant idleness,

Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless.

DESIRE OF ESTEEM.

305

1

DESIRE OF ESTEEM.

This is another of the original impulses of our
nature which is both powerful and universal in its
effects. The little child, after performing some of its
acquired tricks, will look up for a smile and an encour¬
aging word, and if it does not receive them it will turn
away in evident disappointment. The same principle
rules in later years ; the strong man is anxious that
what he does should meet the approval of all about
him. We are happy when we feel that we have the
respect and admiration of the world, doubly so if we
possess its affection at the same time. This is one of
the elements of ambition. We desire not power, but
fame as well. There are a few who would prefer to be
4t the power behind the throne,” working in secret, or at
most, only in a sort of semi-publicity. A far greater
number would like to occupy the throne and have the
power also ; they desire the ability to do, but they are
equally anxious to get full credit for all their doings.
There is also a goodly number of those who would be
perfectly content to fill the throne, and give to some
one else the power and the care that goes with it.
They are satisfied if they can be in the public eye, the
observed of all observers, even though they may be in
reality only puppets pulled with wires by some one
behind them.

One of the most remarkable features of the desire
of esteem, and one which gives those philosophers who

trace all our feelings and actions to the principle of
20

THE DESIRES.

306

rational selfishness a great deal of trouble, is the fact
that we desire the esteem and admiring remembrance
of those who shall come after us — “the ages yet
unborn.” Apparently there is no way of reducing this
particular desire to such an origin. For of what pos¬
sible material advantage could a reputation among

» ,

people who live after we are long dead, be to us ? The
plaudits or the curses of a whole world will not depress
either side of the scale wherein our good and evil
deeds shall be balanced, so much as the fraction of a
hair. The din of applause or denunciation which may
ascend from earth, cannot reach the ears of that judge
who sits aloft and reads at a glance into the depths of
our hearts.

Many have decried fame as “a sad oppression
to be borne with pain;” “a fancied life in others’
breath”; “a flutt’ring, noisy sound — the cold lie of
universal vogue ; ” the filling of “ a certain portion of
uncertain paper.” All these, and many more equally
pleasant epithets, have been applied to fame by writers
who themselves wrote for it — like a man who dis¬
parages the article he is about to buy. Much nearer
the mark are these lines from Mallet :

1

“I courted fame but as a spur to brave
And honest deeds ; and who despises fame
Will soon renounce the virtues that deserve it.”

Another somewhat strange thing about the love of
esteem is that we desire the esteem of our enemies,
and those whose judgment we consider to be of little

DESIRE OF ESTEEM.

307

account, men whom we despise, indeed. Moreover, it
pains us to fail of receiving the approbation of the
world, even when we are thoroughly convinced of
the righteousness of the course we are pursuing ;
even then it is hard for us to stand up boldly and
defy public sentiment.

The desire for approbation is not at all unworthy
of the greatest and noblest minds. In the words of
Moore :

“ Who that surveys this span of earth we press,

This speck of life in Time’s great wilderness,

This narrow isthmus ’twixt two boundless seas,

The past, the future — two eternities! —

Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare,

When he might build him a proud temple there ;

A name that long shall hallow all its space,

And be each purer soul’s high resting place?”

It is right and honorable, then, that we should strive
to gain the good opinion both of the contemporary
world and of that which shall yet be.

But this, like everything else, has its limits. It is
not right to work for public favor by dishonest and
disreputable means. There are times, too, when public
opinion is, as we see things, wrong. In such cases, it
would be both criminal and disgraceful for us to sac¬
rifice a cause which we believed to be just and right in
order that we might gain in the estimation of mistaken
people. It would have been wrong for the great
religious reformers to have yielded to the tumult that
surrounded them. It was wrong in the thousands who

THE DESIRES.

308

did yield. Carlyle and Wordsworth would have done
wrong, and have been unworthy the respect /now
accorded them, had they sacrificed what they respect¬
ively believed to be truth and art to the clamor that
assailed each of them when they published their novel
opinions and methods of writing. The public is not
always right, and when we think it wrong on important
matters, we ought to be able to throw it aside and
follow our own convictions. This is always the part
of true manhood ; moreover, it is a line of conduct
that will always win respect in the end, while currying
favor with the world at the expense of our own honest
beliefs is a procedure which has always been held in
just contempt.

Hope and fear differ from desire and aversion, only
in having the added element of probability. We hope
for anything which we wish, and which we have some
probability of getting. We fear anything for which we
entertain a dislike, and which may probably be inflicted
upon us.

The strength of our hope and fear is proportioned
to two things : the probability and the desire, or the
probability and the aversion, as the case may be. A
thing for which we entertain a moderate desire or aver¬
sion, and of which there is a strong probability, will be
much hoped for or feared. A thing for which our
desire or aversion is strongly marked, and of which

HOPE AND FEAR.

309

there is little probability, will also create within us a
high degree of hope or fear. Dr. Brown illustrates
this principle by the case of a traveler : “ There can be
no question,” says he, “that he who travels in the same
carriage, with the same external appearances of every
kind by which a robber could be tempted or terrified,
will be in equal danger of attack, whether he carry with
him little of which he can be plundered, or such a treas¬
ure as would impoverish him if it were lost. But there
can be no question, also, though the probabilities of
danger be the same, the fear of attack would, in these
two cases, be very different ; that, in the one case, he
would laugh at the ridiculous terror of any one who
journeyed with him, and expressed much alarm at the
approach of evening ; and that, in the other case, his
own eye would watch suspiciously every horseman who
approached, and would feel a sort of relief when he
observed him pass carelessly and quietly along, at a
considerable distance behind.” This tendency of the
imagination to exaggerate the real, and conjure up a
thousand unreal dangers, when anything of peculiar
value is in possession, which it is certainly possible, and
it may be slightly probable, that we may lose, may,
perhaps, account for the uneasiness, amounting often
to extreme anxiety, that frequently accompanies the
sudden acquisition of wealth. The cobbler, at his last,
is a merry man, whistling at his work, from morning
until night. Bequeath him a fortune, and he quits at
once his last and his music ; he is no longer the light¬
hearted man that he was ; his step is cautious, his look

3io

THE DESIRES.

anxious and suspicious ; he grows care-worn and old.
He that never was so happy in his life as when a poor
man, now dreads nothing so much as poverty. While
he was poor, there was nothing to fear, but everything
to hope, from the future ; now that he is rich, there is
nothing further to hope, but much to fear, since if the
future brings any change in his condition, as it is not
unlikely to do, it will, in all probability, be a change,
not from wealth to still greater wealth, but from his
present affluence to his former penury.

*

Where is the troubled heart consign’d to share
Tumultuous toils, or solitary care,

Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray
To count the joys of fortune’s better day !

Thus exclaims Thomas Campbell, in his beautiful
poem on “The Pleasures of Hope.” Man has no
better or more faithful friend than Hope. After all
others have forsaken him, she still remains, cheering
his lonesome hours with stories of the joys that may
yet be his. In the beautiful words of Schiller:

’Tis hope first shows him the light of day,

Through infancy hovers before Him,

Enchants him in youth with her magic ray,

Survives, when the grave closes o’er him;

For when in the tomb ends his weary race,

E’en there still see we her smiling face !

Indeed the pleasures of hope are greater than those
of reality. Hope paints us joys unalloyed by any
dross. No care and trouble is connected with the

HOPE AND FEAR.

31 1

wealth and power that is ours in hope ; all is pleasure

unmixed with pain, adorned

colors

on fancy’s palette.

At summer eve, when heaven’s ethereal bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountains, turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?
’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,

And robes the mountain in its azure hue.

Thus, with delight, we linger to survey
The promised joys of life’s unmeasured way;
Thus from afar, each dim discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been,
And every form, that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

©BSERVATIORS.

HE most striking feature of note seen in
the study of the Sensibilities, is that at
almost every point they may possibly antag¬
onize each other. The human being may
find himself placed where, for instance, to
gratify his desire for money he must sacri¬
fice his love for his friends, or some other
affection even more dear ; or where, to pre¬
serve his sense of self-approval, and avoid
the pain of disapproval, he must sacrifice
some strong desire ; or, to obtain and hold
the esteem of his fellow beings, many other
of the desires, the affections, or the emo¬
tions, must be held in check, or denied
entirely. Here, then, the “irrepressible conflict” is
forever going on ; here is the battle-field where the
warring angels of good and evil are forever struggling.
Why good, and why evil ? Because man’s nature,
besides including all there is in nature below him,
has some higher qualities added. The law of nature
is that of progress, always from lower to higher.

Man, in order to keep this law, must use the lower

%

side of his nature for the continued elevation of his

higher qualities. To keep this grand law of nature,

812

OBSERVATIONS.

31 3

and not to break it, to be guided by his higher,
nobler side, is good ; to be moved by his lower, his
animal side alone, to break that universal law, is
evil. These feelings from both sides of his nature
are, by necessity, always present and intermingling.
In plain sight of these clear-cut facts, it seems
scarcely necessary to urge each person to a constant
and careful study of his own feelings. Certainly, no
one would fix his eyes upon the clouds and walk in
dangerous places, near pitfalls, trenches and preci¬
pices, never- looking to his feet. But a moment’s
survey of the multitudes in every-day life will con¬
vince any one that this is just what a good many
people are doing. It is not the business of this
hour to preach sermons, however. Nothing could
be further from our intent. Let us examine Nature,
her laws, her conditions, her final results, and find in
the discovery of facts and the pursuit of truth, another
mission. It is the privilege of every human being to
see and understand that in the Sensibilities, as above
fully enumerated, is found the motive, the origin of
every Willed or chosen action of his life, or of every
refusal to act.

The first acts of the child are largely the results
of instinctive feelings, or inherited tendencies. The
little girl nurses her doll, because she so desires.
Sunbeams kiss her golden tresses, a look of Heaven
is on her face, and maternity is in her heart. The
boy, though just beginning to walk, will instantly
throw aside that ape of a baby, the doll, harness his

314 the sensibilities.

dog to a wagon, and haul sticks about the place. He
builds a stable for his dog, and ties him in the stall
as though he was a real horse. The yard gate is left
open only once, he darts out, and is gone. Up the
street he toddles, amid men and danger. He is ready
to ride a horse, buy a calf, or run a locomotive. He
loves to throw snowballs, and stones, and forgets his
dinner when a contest is on hand. Such are his likes
and dislikes.

A little later the young lady notices lights and
shadows. She always knows the color of your eye
and the cut of your coat ; she can tell the width and
hue of every ribbon which has graced female beauty
in her neighborhood for years past. She paints,
sings, sympathizes. Her form, face and heart ask for
sympathy in return. She longs for some one whom
she can respect and whom she can give a wealth of
affection, more like heaven than earth. The recipient
of this may be the veriest scoundrel on the green sod.
She knows it not, nor can she easily be convinced of
this fact ; he leads her anywhere, and there she dwells,
wrapped in adoration of him. Should he rise to the
skies on wings of fame and moral worth she goes not
with him unless her feelings attend the course. Is
he an outcast? He may also be faithless and cruel,
yet his stopping place is her home, while she loves
him. She has not the power to tell these deeds
to others, and they are viewed through glasses of
affection.

The young man leaves home with an exact image

OBSERVATIONS.

315

of mother in his heart. No — not an image! Vastly
more ! She walks alive in the halls of his soul. She
may pass away to other worlds, but she is not gone.
He may raise the liquor glass, but mothers eye
rebukes. He walks the dens of vice — mother looks
on and weeps. Oh, what a guardian angel is mother !
How hard to be wicked, for mother wants him to be
good ! He is impelled to the right because he feels it
to be right and desires to please mother. If he toils
from dawn till night, some sort of feeling is the motor.
Either he hungered, he was cold, or he loved a nice
home, happy children and a wife well dressed. He
loved position in society, and chief seats in the syna¬
gogues. He dreaded the pinchings of poverty and the
contempt of his fellow men, and ennui struck its fangs
into every part of his being — all these — or at least
some of them, impelled him to work. Ah, what a
blending of varied feelings do we see ! Come they all
from the nobler side ?

It has been said that “ Knowledge is power.”
Knowledge is power, indeed, but it is passive power.
Knowledge alone never took Sherman from the shoe-
maker’s bench and gave him a seat in Congress.
Knowledge is but light for the track — feeling darts the
train!

Every phase of Sensibility should be studied for

THE PART IT PLAYS IN BUSINESS.

All the most powerful doers in the world have been
also the most powerful feelers. Sensibility is the fire

3 1 6 THE SENSIBILITIES.

under the boiler. Without it, there can be no steam,
no motion. Every act, from the poet’s dreamy crea¬
tion, to the steady labor of the mechanic at his anvil,
or the farmer at his plow, must be lit up with the warm
glow of emotions, affections, desires.

One of the greatest literary men of modern times
said that when he was about sixteen, and was already a
writer of short articles for the press, he found the fol¬
lowing paragraph in a scrap of an old journal : “If you
would be a successful writer, cultivate your feelings.
Study the whole range of human emotions, affections,
desires, and become familiar with their endless combi¬
nations. The place to study them is in the written
lives of men and women, in the lives of your friends
and associates, but first of all, and most of all, in your
own heart. True, if you would speak for others to
listen, you must have something to say ; you must have
a large and varied information, a vast store of useful
facts. But these alone will be cold and useless for
your purpose unless warmed into life and thrilled into
separate realities by a wide, deep, and far-reaching sym¬
pathy. Your skeleton of facts must be clothed with
human flesh, it must breathe and live.” He cut the
paragraph out and pasted it into his pocket-book and
years afterward, when he fully understood its vast
scope, he treasured the little clipping all the more for
its truth and wisdom.

The laborer cleans the street honestly and faithfully,
because he has a heart in the right place. Without the
same feelings that are needed to ennoble a king, he will

OBSERVATIONS.

317

be either a villain, a dunce, or a slave. But give him
the feelings that move the lives of all the true, and his
tasks fall from his hands in cheerful and earnest com¬
pleteness, and he becomes the peer of every man who
has a heart.

THE INNER LIFE.

The outward lives of men come alwavs from the
springs within ; the Sensibilities are, then, the most
absorbing study, because a knowledge of them is the
key to the inner life of every one.

The Intellect is constantly perceiving things, and to
whatever extent these things excite man’s emotions,
his affections, his desires, to that extent may he act.
He may act hastily, impulsively, we say, taking what
seems to be the nearest road to the fruition of his feel¬
ings, after the manner of brutes ; or he may wait for
more intellectual light, for a study of all departments
of his feelings, for a wise decision upon the worthiness
of that feeling to be a motive. When we see so many
people doing things merely because they feel like doing
them, acting upon impulse, without waiting to examine
the wisdom of their proposed action, we are not sur¬
prised at the abuse that is heaped upon such people;
or that they are used by wiser heads as mere blind
tools to accomplish any end their leaders choose. They
are sometimes led on to noble ends, but too often they
are but cat’s paws to pull chestnuts out of the burning
ashes for others. How many a lawyer has won a hard
case by simply playing upon the chords of Sensibility

3 I 8 THE SENSIBILITIES.

in the minds of his jurymen. First a little cordial to
please their self-approval, their love of esteem, then he
presents the feelings of his client, stripped of everyT
thing base, that the jurymen may easily feel as his
client felt ; then rapidly the scale is run, every pulsing
sentiment is made to throb in sympathy with that
client, every circumstance is managed to call forth their
pity for him, every noble impulse in the common heart
of humanity to aid a fellow-mortal in any sort of dan¬
ger is called out, and amid a torrent of feeling from
the well-springs of Sensibility, the jury give their ver¬
dict in favor of a case that would not, could not, stand
one moment in the clear light of an intellectual, a sen¬
sible examination. In the same way the vile-hearted
libertine wins possession of his victim, and in like
manner does the advocate of every false cause gain
his followers. Every natural feeling is good in its
place, but what is its true place or extent ? That is
the question. The desire for money, fame, power —
how shall we decide the proper limits of these? Many
a man of brain and thought has stumbled upon that
question, because of the popular opinion that the more
money, fame and power we can have, the better. It
was to such desires as these that the slimy villain,
Aaron Burr, appealed when he needed aid in his
schemes ; and the wealthy scholar, Blennerhassett, turn¬
ing from the quiet joys of his books, his farm, and
his virtuous family, to gaze- on pictures of future fame
and glory was led on to ruin and disgrace.

What a medley of contradictions are the motives

OBSERVATIONS.

319

of men ! The thief and the saint are both moved by
the same Sensibility, their feelings. Startling thought !
From the same range of possibilities may come the
tenderest act of a faithful friend, or the foulest crime
of a blackened murderer. Where does the difference
arise ?

THE ANSWER.

The answer has been already hinted. All the desires
classed as animal desires in the analysis of the Sensi¬
bilities, man holds in common with other animals.
These are necessary to the safety and welfare of his
body and the continuance of the race. Further than
this, these desires dare not lead. You may eat to live,
but never live for the sake of eating. So with the
other feelings in this section. (See analysis of the
desires, page 290.)

Another point : Man’s nature makes him a social
being. His love of kindred, his love of friends, of
country, of society, of the good will and esteem of
others, all point to the plain fact that man’s nature will
suffer, and suffer severely, if he attempt to live wholly
apart from all his kind, or array himself in selfishness
against his fellow creatures. No human being, how¬
ever perfect, can go on very long without the sincere
and true regard of some worthy person. There will
come moments when an unsatisfied hunger for love and
sympathy will almost drive him mad. Sympathy is the
central bond of humanity, and when any individual
devotes too large a share of his efforts to the pursuit of

320

THE SENSIBITITIES.

his private good alone, or tries to rise upon the down¬
fall or misfortune of others, he cuts the very rope that
anchors his ship in safety.

And finally, the law of progress and improvement,
the most powerful, deep, and universal law of Nature,
stands forever ready at the hand of every thinking
person as a measure of the worthiness of his motives.
Nature never made a law to be broken, nor excused an
individual for negligence in understanding her laws.

ESTEEM AND SELF-APPROVAL.

The most powerful impulses in leading men to just
and proper actions are those of self-approval or disap¬
proval, and the desire for the esteem or good-will of
other people. The desire for the esteem of others is
almost omnipotent. It is not to be believed that any
mortal ever lived who was so far gone in utter reck¬
lessness as to fully, completely and truly say, “ I don’t
care what others think of me.” The person who
moves toward such a state of mind is treading on the
brink of moral ruin. Yet this very desire for the
esteem of others, restraining and beneficial as it surely
is, may become our worst enemy. When careless,
unwise, mistaken, foolish, or vicious persons are the
associates whose good-will we court, the danger of our
position is easily seen, for it is impossible to avoid
doing some things to please them and hold their
friendship. There is no safety in the esteem of

others unless we choose to devote ourselves wholly

<

toward winning it from the wise, the virtuous and the

OBSERVATIONS.

321

true. Our friends must be chosen from among the
good, those about whose goodness there is no shade
of doubt, or this very feeling, given to elevate and
ennoble us, will but drag us down, and down. How
true is that saying: “What a person loves, that will
he become,” and this law of human nature explains it.

No anguish of spirit on earth can equal that of the
being who feels that all the world is frowning on him.
As of the dog in the proverb, you may say, “ Give him
a bad name, and then hang him,” for he is ready for
any deed ; he has no reputation to save. He will
barter his soul for a pitying glance of sympathy from
the veriest villain, and follow the approving smiles 1
of his newly found friend, though it lead to a bottom¬
less pit. Need we look further for the proof of that
rough old saying: “ There is no rage like love to hatred
turned ” ?

Here is one of the many practical lessons to be
learned from these truths. Though we dare not asso¬
ciate with evil or vicious persons, yet our dearest
companions will of course be more or less imperfect ;
and while we study them closely that we be not led
into their faults, it is most unwise to openly notice
their errors, or to often chide them. They, knowing
that we dwell upon their weaknesses, feel that our
respect for them is lessened ; and soon they lose to
that extent their desire of laboring to please or gratify
us, or to merit the esteem they feel is already lost.
Thus are we the losers by what is also a great unkind¬
ness to them. How much wiser, by our own pure
21

322

THE SENSIBILITIES.

lives and their regard for us and good-will, to lead
them unconsciously away from evil. Thus appears
the deep meaning of the sage when he says: “A
good example is better than precept ” ; like charity,
it blesses both giver and receiver.

When we do that of which our own understand¬
ings approve, we can scarcely know a sweeter reward
than that same feeling of self-approval ; but instead,
when an act is condemned by our better sense, we
cannot escape the company of our own minds, and
the frown of sharp rebuke is ever present. These
remorseful feeling are the echoes of lost virtues.
Not even for an hour can we bear to be alone,
nor can we advantageously apply our leisure time ;
we try like fugitives and wanderers to escape from
ourselves ; but the gloomy companion presses on,
and pursues us as we fly. No man can long re¬
main knowingly guilty to himself ; and there is no
man that carries guilt about him, without receiving
a sting into his soul. He may suffer at the thought
of an evil act he contemplates doing, and his efforts
to free himself from this painful disapproval of an
act already done, or about to be done, gives rise to
one of the most peculiar traits in the human char¬
acter, namely, that of self-deception.

SELF-DECEPTION.

When a man harbors an impulse he feels to be an
unworthy one, he must either suffer the pain of his
own disapproval or quiet his mind temporarily with

OBSERVATIONS.

323

some excuse. Many try to drown their memories in
vice, or a round of exciting scenes ; while many more
plead their own cases before the court of their accusing
minds, and where the same person is both pleader and
judge, a fair judgment is too seldom obtained. Thus,
while one person is being deceived by others, scores
upon scores deceive themselves. One quiets his
doubts by saying, “ I was abundantly provoked to do
what I did”; another, “ I was not well informed, I was
ignorant and am not to blame for what I did ” ; another*
“ Oh, it is a very small matter, it don’t amount to much
in a lifetime”; another, “ Hundreds of people do the
same, and worse ” ; another, “ I can’t afford to waste
time thinking of the past, I must be jolly to-day, for
to-morrow I may die.” The most common and danger¬
ous excuse is found behind the fact that all the feelings
in the range of Sensibility are right and good under
some circumstances ; the mistake is made in the extent
of their indulgence. Many a man has a kind of
kaleidoscope, where the bits of broken glass are his
own little acts and wishes, and they fall into pretty
combinations, and delight him, often very mischiev¬
ously and to his final serious injury ; but they are to
him a pleasure for the moment. It is easy for a hasty

person to believe that his motives are pure and noble,

* *

or for the closer thinker to persuade himself for a time
that his course is proper and right. But it is our privi¬
lege to know that every broken law must suffer its
penalty, that those who delay the judgment are but
adding to their own pain, and that sooner or later

324

THE SENSIBILITIES.

regrets must overtake each and every error. A wrong
act cannot be long forgotten in excuses. It must be
righted, or the memory of it can be buried in no other
way but in the excitement of committing greater
wrongs. Hence, we see beings who are on the down¬
ward grade generally bearing an air of reckless gayety ;
they seldom lose an opportunity to help persons
younger in error to step down a little faster for the
sake of companionship in misery, or to popularize their
own mistakes ; and at each downward turn they gain
new speed. This does not apply in particular to the
extremely vicious, but rather to the careless in all
classes : those of slightly loose or very easy habits in
the highest ranks ; those who say to themselves in
their more sober moments, “Yes, this is not right, I
know ; to-morrow, or next year, I must change my
course.” There is no legitimate end to such a career
but in moral degradation, physical ruin, death.

It is no pleasant task to dwell upon these features
of human nature ; they are facts, and must be noticed
for facts’ sake.

man’s motives.

t

Man’s motives fill the world with joy or sorrow.
The human Sensibility ! What an endless range of
varied music may come from that instrument ! Who
would miss the study of its capacities? It holds every
tone in the whole range of sounds, the lowest notes
and the highest. From off its trembling strings the
simple airs of child-life ripple ; thence come the bright

OBSERVATIONS.

325

and cheery glees of youth ; the monotones of idleness ;
the sweet but sensuous waves of voluptuous melody,
that breathe wine and dance and wantonness till the
cords glow and loosen, and the strains die in a monody
of the prodigal’s sullen, miserable wail ; the rattle of
guns and the beating of drums in life’s earnest battle ;
the harsh clangor of dishonorable strife’s conflicting
elements, making the very frame quiver with their
discord ; the rustling murmur of the gathering storms
of trial ; the subduing, soft, all-conquering music of
honest love and sympathy — tender, holy, deep and
true ; the sublime grandeur of eternal hopes — the
pure spirit’s divinest harmonies !

It has been impossible to speak of the various
branches of the Sensibility and their resulting mo¬
tives without mentioning the relative value and
importance of these motives. And, as their value
or importance depends upon their moral worth, we
have spoken of right and wrong, and man’s moral
nature, although we have not yet come in our analy¬
sis and study to that division where man is shown
to have a moral nature, or, indeed, obligations of
any sort. In Intuition we see his capacity to know
right and wrong, in case such things really exist.
That such things as right and wrong do exist, will
appear in the next division of the mind, namely,
the Will. There man’s obligation, and, hence, his
moral nature, will appear.

So charming is the study of the Sensibilities it
is difficult to pass to the next subject, for in them we

THE SENSIBILITIES.

326

see sympathy, joy, love and hate, fears, desires and
hopes, which are by far the larger share of all there
is in life for most people. But let it not be for¬
gotten that without the eye of Intellect and the
firm hand of Will, this flood of feeling may be like
a great spring gushing from the mountain side and
spending its wealth of waters in waste places. With¬
out an eye to choose its direction, without a firm
hand to regulate its reckless flow, the lovely vales
will never see its greatest beauty, and the parched
fields will seldom know its blessing.

\

FIRST THOUGHTS.

HEN making our general analysis
of man, his mind-nature was di-

i

vided into three grand divisions :
Intellect, Sensibilities, and Will.
We have already seen, in the section
on the Intellect, that it was the knowing and
judging power of man, and in the Sensibilities
that they furnished the motive power. It has
grown very common to liken man’s mind to a
locomotive engine, and no better figure offers
itself. The Intellect is the frame and machin¬
ery of the engine. Its parts are all perfect,
every wheel and every lever is in its place, its head¬
light shines bright and clear along the track, it stands
there cold and motionless. The Sensibilities are the
water in the boiler and the fire beneath. The fire
burns, the steam presses against the valves, and the
engine pulses and throbs with the forces within. What

more is needed? The Will, the engineer who sets

327

THE WILL.

328

the reverse-lever for a forward or a backward course,
then pulls the throttle-valve. The engine now moves
out upon the track, a thing of life and power.

So the Intellect and the Sensibilities furnish man’s
motives for action, and decide what the conditions of
action shall be ; that done, the Will acts. There can
be no better place than right here to call the reader’s
attention to the fact that there are two distinct kinds
of actions, those of the mind only, as in thinking, and
those of both mind and body, where we may see the
body or its various members in motion, pursuing some
end. Thinking is a very important kind of action, in
fact the more important of the two. A person may be
sitting perfectly still, yet be very busy indeed. One
reason why thought-acts are so important is, that in
whatever direction a man’s thought runs, his other
actions, his outward bodily actions, will follow along
in the same direction. As a man’s heart is, so will his
life be, says the proverb. It is very necessary to bear
in mind these two kinds of actions.

But to return : the work of the Will is the result
to which Intellect and Sensibility lead; and it is
that alone through which they can become forceful.
The relation which the Will sustains to the other

t

faculties of the mind is of the utmost importance,
and the utility of a study of this faculty can scarcely
be over-estimated. There is another circumstance
which makes a thorough knowledge of the Will, and
the observed principles in accordance with which it
operates, of double value to every thinking person :

FIRST THOUGHTS.

329

it is that there is no question which enters more
deeply into all theological systems than the one of
whether our wills are free or not — stated in terms
of theology, “are we, or are we not, free moral
agents?” The answer to this question is the corner¬
stone upon which all systems of religion must of
necessity rest. Out of the actions of the Will a
very curious feature arises, namely, that of

HABIT.

A habit is formed in the following manner. After
an act is once done and the occasion arises for a
repetition of that act, the mind, remembering what
was done before, travels over the path much quicker
than at first. The feelings respond more readily,
because the Intellect calls louder, as it were. Another
and another repetition is still more readily made, and
in time the very nerves interested in accomplishing
this act grow stronger and larger with the continued
exercise. All improvement in the fingers of the
knitter, in the eye of the painter, in the tongue of
the speaker, in the hand of the mechanic, is the
gift of habit. Habit is a channel worn in the sub¬
stance of the soul, along which our purpose and our
ability run with increased facility. Thus, oft repeated
actions, though disagreeable at first, and even though
really hurtful, become a pleasure, which to omit
would be positively painful.

The power of habit is simply wonderful. It either
strengthens or weakens the will almost beyond belief.

TIIE WILL.

n in

OJU

It becomes finally “a second nature.” An account is
on record of a native of India who had committed a
murder, and, in order not only to save his life, but,
wdiat was of much more consequence to him, his caste,
he submitted to the penalty imposed. This was, that
he should sleep for seven years on a bedstead without
any mattress, the whole surface of which was studded
with points of iron resembling nails, but not so sharp
as to penetrate the flesh. He was seen in the fifth
year of his probation, and his skin was then like the
skin of a rhinoceros, but more callous ; at that time,
however, he could sleep comfortably on his bed of
thorns, arid remarked, that at the expiration of the
term of his sentence, he would most probably continue
that method of sleep from choice which he had been
obliged to adopt from necessity.

Charles Dickens, in a conversation with a group of
friends on this subject, told of an incident that occurred
during one of his trips across the ocean. One of the
passengers was a man who in early life had been a
sailor, but, having fallen heir to an estate had not been
on the sea for years. A heavy gale came up, and at
the first stern command of the captain to the sailors,
this quiet passenger in gentleman’s clothes sprang up
and led the best of them out among the rigging, doing
the most daring and the most dangerous tasks. On
coming down, he appeared quite mortified to think he
had so completely forgotten his proper place. Thus
does habit assert itself. .

With the idea of carrying our habits of thought

HABIT.

331

over from this world into a future life, we are reminded
of the old colored woman, who had a young niece that
sorely tried her patience. The more attempts that
were made to keep this wayward charge in the right
path, the more she seemed to wander. One day, after
reading some infidel book, she said quite impudently :

“ Auntie, I ain’t gwine to believe in a hell no more.
If dar is any hell, I jest wants to know whar dey gets
all dere brimstone for dat place ; dat’s what I would
like ter know.”

The old woman fixed her eyes on her niece, and
with a tear on her cheek, said :

“ Ah, honey, darlin’, you look out you don’t go dare ;
for you’ll find de people all takes der own brimstone
wid ’em.”

And may we not inquire how much of the happiness
of a future life depends upon habits of virtuous cheer¬
fulness in this ?

Habits are formed by slow procession from small
things to great ones, not by any one violent action.

All habits gather by unseen degrees
As brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.

Like flakes of snow, that fall unperceived upon the
earth, the seemingly unimportant events of life succeed
one another. As the snow gathers together, so are our
habits formed. No single flake that is added to the
heap produces a sensible change ; no single action
creates, however it may exhibit, a man’s character ; but
.as the tempest hurls the avalanche down the mountain,

332 THE WILL.

and overwhelms the inhabitant and his habitation, so
passion, acting upon the elements of mischief which per¬
nicious habits have slowly gathered together, may over¬
throw the edifice of truth and virtue. If we look back
upon the usual course of our feelings, we shall find that
we are more influenced by the frequent recurrence of
objects than by their weight and importance ; and that
habit has too often more force in forming our char¬
acters than our opinions have. The mind naturally
takes its tone and complexion from what it habitually
contemplates. This effect of habit in guiding men
accounts for the progress of deception under the
control of designing men of great enthusiasm, such
as Mohammed, the pioneer of Mohammedanism, and
Joseph Smith, the originator of Mormonism. They
began by some trick to help themselves, and, discov¬
ering their power over the simple-minded, they per¬
sisted in deception till they became unable to think
or act but as deceivers. At length, probably, the habit
was confirmed by their becoming insane converts to
their own lies, believing the whims of their own imagi¬
nations to be the especial revelations of Heaven. Like
a horse in a mill, the mind thus goes round in the same
circle, till it turns blind and incapable of straight¬
forward exertion. Its very dreams are of that beaten
track.

The diminutive chains of habit are seldom heavy
enough to be felt until they are too strong to be
broken. It is quite evident that it is in our power
to form either habits for good or habits that are

HABIT.

3*i
00

evil. Lord Brougham says : “ I trust everything
under God to habit, upon which, in all ages, the
law-giver, as well as the school-master, has mainly
placed his reliance ; habit, which makes everything
easy, and casts all difficulties upon the turning from
a regular course. Make sobriety a habit, and intem¬
perance will be hateful ; make prudence a habit, and
recklessness will be as contrary to our feelings as
the most atrocious crimes are to any of us.” We
may voluntarily put ourselves in the way of acquir¬
ing habits of any desired kind — habits of study, of
sobriety, of industry, of patience, or habits of thought.
So we may correct an evil habit already formed, or
an evil tendency of our nature. Buffon, naturally
lazy, became a good worker, and, indeed, very indus¬
trious, by habit. A man with a natural appetite for
strong drink may overcome it by avoiding all things
of a stimulating tendency, and cultivating continued
habits of sobriety. A rescued captive from among
the Indians said that his savage masters, in teaching
him the use of the bow and arrow, had him exer¬
cise in the various attitudes, and kept him drawing
the bow-string to his ear, for three months together,
before they would suffer him to set an arrow.

Habit is the parents’ hold upon the child, and
the good man’s power against evil. The formation
of a habit reduces to this simple direction : Apply
yourself to a given plan industriously, punctually,
and persistently.

334

THE WILL.

SPHERE OF THE WILL.

To define a little more accurately the sphere of
the Will, we may say that all our actions deliber¬
ately taken, are the direct result of the willing'
power. The beating of the heart, the action of the
lungs and stomach, and some other such actions, are
involuntary, and have little or nothing to do with
Will. Walking, talking, singing, writing, etc., are
examples of those deeds which are voluntary, that
is, caused by forethought, by the deliberate willing
that they shall be performed. We can scarcely
imagine what would be the condition of a person
destitute of this executive power of the mind. No
one ever existed utterly without it. Such a person
would be without the ability to perform the com¬
monest and easiest of the voluntary motions. But,
though we see no one so entirely helpless, we meet
a great many who are comparatively so. The drunk¬
ard and the debauchee who have allowed their animal
\

passions to disarm their Wills are every-day sights.
They have lost the power to act in opposition to
the impulses of certain branches of their Sensibilities.
Everybody knows what a sad state is theirs. An¬
other class of weak-willed people with whom we often
come into contact is made up of those who, as it is
commonly expressed, have no wills of their own.
They are unable to stand against the arguments,
entreaties, or threats of other men. They are easily
persuaded out of or into any given line of action.

SPHERE OF THE WILL.

335

They can be induced to do what their judgments
tell them would be detrimental to their best interests.
Such people never accomplished anything. They
have not persistence enough to adopt a plan of
operations and then stand by it. Every wind seems,
to bring with it a change of mind for them ; they
are continuously shifting about from one thing to
another, trying to go in all directions at once. The
story of their lives is but a long record of hopeful
plans deserted before completion, of failures in all
sorts of brilliant undertakings, solely through irresolu¬
tion. Such being the case, the importance of under¬
standing and cultivating the Will can readily be
seen, and we will now pass to a brief examination of
the Will, and of its acts, called willing.

Analysis of the Will.

As I sit here writing, I suddenly take my knife and
sharpen my pencil ; now the problem is to find what is.
involved in that act. Before I sharpen the pencil,
there certainly must be the pencil to be sharpened ;
that is, the first condition to any act of the will power
is that there be something to be done. There being
a pencil to be sharpened, I must have a motive for
performing the labor. The mere fact that the pencil
exists would not impel me to sharpen it. My motive
probably is a desire to increase the legibility of the
writing. But that is not all. I may have the pencil,
and may desire that it shall have a better point, and

336

THE WILL.

yet, for lack of time, or on account of some other
interfering circumstance, I may not sharpen it. The
determination not to do a thing is as much an object of
choice as the determination to do it. Thus it is seen
that two things are necessary to a choice. The next
step, then, evidently is, that, taking into consideration
all the circumstances which have any bearing upon the
matter, I shall decide, or choose, whether to sharpen
the pencil or not. Having made my choice, the final
stage of the proceeding is arrived at, viz., that of voli¬
tion, the incomprehensible process of willing, strictly
speaking. In any act involving any motion of the
body, when the choice is fully made, the motor nerves
carry the message to the muscles and they move in
obedience to the Will. That, so far as the mind is
concerned, completes the action. All that follows
is purely an affair of the body, consisting merely in
the muscular actions ; and unless something stronger
than we opposes us, the deed will be performed.

Then there are the acts of the mind, purely mental,
which do not require any motion of the limbs, or
body. As has been said, a man may be sitting per¬
fectly motionless and yet be very busy indeed. His
imagination, his memory, his reflective powers may
each or all be deeply engaged in some chosen task.
Too many people do not recognize the vast extent
and far-reaching importance of this line of action,
commonly called brain-work. The common multitude,
though professing to be ashamed of laziness, yet allow
their very highest powers, namely, their mental powers,

ANALYSIS OF THE WILL.

337

to rust away in almost utter idleness, or follow no
guide but the whims of fancy. It is a great thing, a
great thing, to be able to turn the mind upon some
chosen line of thought and hold it there until a
worthy task is completed. This subject has been
dwelt upon at length, beginning page 175, and under
the head of “ How to Think,” a number of methods
are given to aid the inquiring reader in developing
this branch of power.

The following is an analysis of the Will, dia¬
grammed as usual, showing its divisions in their order.

Will.

Necessary conditions.

f Something to be done.
[ A motive for doing it.

Choice.

Volition proper.

MOTIVES.

It will be worth the trouble to examine a little more
closely each of these elements which go to make up a
complete act of the Will. The first of the necessary
conditions, however, is so simple, and at the same time
so various, as not to need any discussion. There are
millions upon millions of things to be either done or
left undone, and each of these calls for an exercise
of the Will. With regard to the second essential, the
motive, the case is different. We cannot conceive that
a man should do anything without having a reason for
doing it. His reason may not always be what we

should regard as a good one ; it may not always be
22

\

THE WILL.

intellectual in its character; it may be merely an
animal desire ; but whatever it may be, there must
always be a motive, and one sufficient to produce a
choice in the mind of the doer. Since it is man’s
privilege to examine every motive before allowing it
to move him, it becomes desirable for him to know
what motives are good, to what extent they are good,
and the points where they cross the limit and begin
to be of doubtful good, or real hurt. As we look at
all forms of existence on the earth, from the clods of
the field, up past plants to animals, and thence to man,
it is evident that the lowest thing is created as a
foundation for a higher form of existence. This is
the law of Nature. The elements of the earth are
necessary for plants to live ; plants are higher in the
scale of existence than clods. Plants are necessary in
order for animals to live ; animal life is higher than
plant life, and the animal uses all there is below it in
nature for the good of its existence. But as plants
live for the purpose of making a higher form of life
(that of animals) possible, so the animal part of man
lives solely for the use and benefit of his higher life.
Hence these desires, feelings, motives of men which
are necessary to the continuance of the race, to his
bodily welfare, are the lowest, because they are
necessary in order for man to have other desires.
This, then, is man’s rule and limit. Any pursuit of
mere worldly affairs, or of bodily gratification and
sensual pleasure, when made a chief end, or allowed
to engross time, strength and attention, to the neglect

MOTIVES.

I

339

or detriment of man’s spiritual being, is always hurtful.
It is well to note here that there are more earthy
elements in existence than there are plants, more plants
in the world than animals : the base is broader than
the structure above. So man’s animal or lower feel¬
ings are greater in number and frequency than his
higher sentiments and aspirations. His animal desires
press themselves upon his notice more or less con¬
stantly. Their very frequency is a proof of their
baser origin. They are but the foundations of his
being, however, and must be strictly relegated to their
proper place. None of their coarse, rough elements
dare be used in the strong, beautiful, true edifice —
the moral character — which he is rearing above them.

CHOICE.

Having the two prior conditions, namely, something
to be done, and a motive for doing it, the next essen¬
tial, as was seen, is a choice ; that is, a decision as to
whether, under the existing circumstances, we will do
the deed or not do it. Probably every time a matter
is presented to us for decision, the question arises,
either in words or in thought, and perhaps even uncon¬
sciously, almost, “Shall I do it?” Sometimes the
weight of reason and motive is all on one side, and the
decision is made so quickly as to seem immediate and
unconscious. At other times, when the balance hangs
almost even, the decision is only reached through a
long and painful process of thought and reasoning.
But be it long or short, there is no doubt that some

340

THE WILL.

such process always takes place. Sometimes the Will
is surrounded by such weighty conditions that the
choice seems scarcely free. A little thought will show
that in strictness we are free to make our own choice,
although there may be practical certainty as to what
that choice will be. The case of a man attacked by
burglars and threatened with death if he does not
reveal the place where he has secreted his money, will
serve as an example. It is quite certain that if the
money is his own, and there is no principle of honor or
trust at stake, he will choose to give up the money,
yet he may not; he has an alternative — death, with
which no one can possibly interfere. The legal phrase
describing a man in such a condition is in duress , and
he is not responsible in law for what he does ; for
instance, a note given, or a deed signed, under such
circumstances is void. The point is this: the freedom
of choice is always ours, though the power to attain the
choice may be taken away by accident, disease, or the
superior force of others. Hence the just judge looks
at the motives of the inner hearts of men rather than
at their outward actions. The choice is always free,
and therefore responsible.

It is well to note the order of action in which the
three divisions of the mind act and unite to reach
a choice, or Will-action. The order is this: Intel¬
lect, first ; Sensibilities, next, and, finally, the Will.
Passing along the street, I may see something in a
show-window; my Intellect tells me that it is a good
thing. But that would not be sufficient to induce

CHOICE.

341

me to go into the store. Knowing its utility or
beauty, I feel a desire for the article, and that
desire furnishes a motive for considering the ques¬
tion of obtaining it ; and, after measuring the ques¬
tion of good involved, I will to obtain it, or I will
to think no more about it. Evidently this order is
universal. Without the Intellect there is no knowl¬
edge of things ; without the Sensibilities there is no
motive. As differing from mere impulse, a rational
Will involves rational choice; but without the Intel¬
lect there can be no rationality, and without the
Sensibilities there can be no motive for choosing.
But, having these, we have all that we need, not as
a cause of Will, but as a necessary condition for the
Will to act.

As these three products of the mind have a different
origin, so they have differing natures, and perform
different offices. We might have Intellect without
Sensibilities or Will, but we could have no Sensi¬
bilities or Will without Intellect. So we might have
both Intellect and Sensibilities without Will, but cer¬
tainly no Will without both the former. The Intellect
gives us knowledge, simply, and when the Sensibilities
are added, a new field for investigation is opened to
the Intellect. Then when the Will is added, its action
not only opens new fields to the Intellect again, but
gives new forms to the Sensibilities. Thus they inter¬
mingle and regulate each other, but their relative
position, as stated, must not be forgotten. Now,
when a choice is to be made between a lower and

342

THE WILL.

a higher good, it is the nature of man to choose the
higher good. This is man’s moral nature. The first
principle of right and wrong lies here in man’s obli¬
gation not to violate a universal law of Nature by
failing to choose the highest good. Only those
feelings, those desires, those motives, those acts, are
right, and to that extent are they right, which lead
man toward his highest good. We now see man to
be an intelligent, free, moral, forceful cause. He is
a cause. By his intelligence, by his ability to choose
and direct the forces in his own nature, he is a. being
capable of purposely causing that to be, which, but
for him, would not have been. Herein, as respects
freedom and power, he is in the image of the Creator.

We have now what cannot be found elsewhere in
Nature: a being capable of building up character,
of being loved, respected, venerated, and rewarded ;
capable', also, of being despised, contemned, abhorred
and punished. You may train an animal, you may
discipline him, but in no proper sense can he be said
to have guilt. As has been said, an animal cannot
make a fool of himself. But every human being, by
his ability to understand and choose his course, may
in time become an angel or a demon.

Finally, it appears that in man’s free and intelli¬
gent choice he reaches a higher order of being. If
he is free, there may be inducements to mould his
choice, but no sufficient force. He is himself his
own force. He is superior to all else in Nature.
That force is his Spirit. This Spirit makes its

>»

CHOICE.

343

home in the pinnacle of the moral character each
man builds. Its necessities are all below it. Remorse
and shame will come by necessity after choice, where,
by a similar necessity there might have been a virtu¬
ous self-satisfaction, hope and joy.

The grand climax of man’s nature, bodily and
mental, is thus reached : a free, intelligent, creative
(causative) Spirit : a being capable of carrying its
moral character into the future, capable of under¬
standing and longing for immortality.

FREEDOM OF THE WILL.

In our examination of the Will we have arrived
at the conclusion that it is free in its choice, but
fairness demands the statement that this is a dis¬
puted point. It is not in keeping with our purpose
to enter into the details of the discussion. There
are many distinguished thinkers in each of the oppos¬
ing ranks. Hobbs, Priestly, Leibnitz, Edwards, Cal¬
vin and Mill, are among those who have in various
ways denied the freedom of the Will. It is not
only among Christian nations that this question has
been agitated ; it was discussed among the ancient
Greeks, and among the Jews; the Sadducees believed
in the freedom of the Will, they and the Pharisees
dividing upon this matter. Perhaps the discussion
. has nowhere been more violent than among the
Mohammedans, their bible, the Koran, teaching the

344

THE WILL.

non-freedom of the Will, or fatalism, and a large
body, called Kadrites, dissenting from that belief.

A most complete showing of an extreme in this
doctrine, is given by Diderot, who played so promi¬
nent a part in the French literature of the last century.
He went so far as to deny all moral responsibility, and
say that “the doer of good is lucky, not virtuous.”
“Reproach others for nothing,” says he, “and repent
of nothing ; this is the first step of wisdom.” The
tendency of this doctrine is to destroy all such ideas as
virtue, vice, sin, goodness, and to bring about such a
system of philosophy as that indicated in the following
sentences : “ God is the real and only responsible doer
of whatever comes to pass, and man the passive instru¬
ment in his hand. Remorse, regret, repentance, are
idle terms, and to praise or blame ourselves or others,
for anything that we or they have done, is merely
absurd.” Comment upon such teaching is unnecessary.

Among the great thinkers who have advocated the
doctrine that the Will is free, are Cousin, Jouffroy,
Tappan, Stewart, Hamilton, and Kant. The tendency
of this doctrine is to hold men responsible for what
they do. Vice and virtue are not mere names, but
realities. If a man does wrong, he is blamable, because
he might have done right.

STRENGTH OF WILL.

Men differ in power of Intellect, and in the
strength of the emotional faculties of the mind'.
In like manner, their Wills differ in strength. One

STRENGTH OF WILL.

345

man seems almost destitute of this valuable power ;
another is as firm as the unyielding rock. The men
whose names are found worthy of inscription upon
the scrolls of history have almost uniformly been
men possessing great strength of Will — men who
never deserted a purpose once deliberately formed.
Among military men, Hannibal, Alexander, Caesar,
Cromwell, Napoleon, Washington, and Grant, were
such men ; and their successes were won as much
by this one characteristic as by anything else. There
was one period of the American Revolution when
Washington’s patient firmness was the salvation of
his country. Grant would “ fight it out on that line
if it took all summer,” and he won. So with the
others. The best examples in history are found in
lives of men who left behind them the luxuries of
life and unflinchingly endured privation for the sake
of principle. Great scholars have always had a con¬
siderable degree of steadfastness ; otherwise they
would have shrunk from the long days and nights
of toilsome study, not always agreeable by any
means. Schiller’s mighty Will enabled him, almost
dead with pulmonary consumption, to enrich his
native land and the whole civilized world by some
of the finest literature of which any age or country
can boast. It was firmness of Will, united to a high
sense of honor, that took Regulus back to Carthage
to suffer the infernalest tortures that Punic ingenuity
could suggest. It is the same thing that gives the
American Indian power to die at the stake without

346

THE WILL.

a murmur. The same spirit enabled the religious
martyrs of the middle ages to make their heroic
sacrifices. The most successful orators have usually,
though not always, possessed this feature of character.
Webster, Henry, Calhoun, and Adams, among those
of America, were men of this stamp. Cicero, per¬
haps, with the exception of Caesar the most wonderful
man of Rome, was deficient in executive ability,
though he managed to overcome it in the most
celebrated event of his life — the defeat of Cataline’s
conspiracy. A political leader must have this prop¬
erty. Cromwell, amid turmoil and rebellion, estab-

I

lished a firm government, strong enough to receive
the hearty respect of the whole world. He died and
left it to his irresolute son Richard, who was com¬
pelled to abandon it in little more than a year. The
importance of a strong Will is perfectly evident from
all these facts. Nothing can exceed it in the influence
which it wields upon a person’s character, no differ¬
ence what may be his or her station in life.

Mary Borden held a position in a dry-goods estab¬
lishment at moderately good wages. She was a
lovable girl, of fairly pretty face and very handsome
figure. She had many admirers and one or two lovers,
but no one seemed an earnest suitor. Her heart was
therefore, free, though it was her nature to respond
quickly to kindness, to love easily and, perhaps, too
passionately. One of the younger managers, a Mr. L.,
had charge of the department where she worked, and
one evening while musing over the incidents of the

I

STRENGTH OF WILL. 347

day the fact forced itself upon her thoughtful mind
that he stopped to speak to her oftener than mere
business required. His manner was warmer and more
attentive than to others, and she knew that she had
already sometimes waited a moment, or again hastened
a little, that she might meet him in his rounds, as she
was so sure of a kind word, a smile, or at least a
sympathetic glance. These thoughts confused her,
and for the next few days she was more reserved.
But her manner now had only the effect of drawing
more marked attention from Mr. L., and she feared
lest her associates should soon notice his partiality
for her. In her quieter moments, she calmly thought
of his circumstances and hers. She was mainly
ignorant of his history, or his daily life outside of
the establishment where they worked. But she knew
enough to know that marriage between them was out
of the question, and, in fact, she remembered hearing
him in conversation about a divorce case in the city,
speak quite carelessly of the whole sad affair, and
perhaps he belonged to that rather numerous class
of men who seem to have a light opinion of the
institution of marriage altogether. Here she felt her
cheeks burning and she said to herself quite angrily,
“ Pshaw; how foolish I am ! He has never made love
to me, much less talked in the direction of matrimony.
It is wrong for me to be thinking of him in this way.
It is unjust to him. I know no evil of him, and he
must be an honorable gentleman or he would not

1

hold the position he does.”

348

THE WILL.

An evening or two later was stormy, and she did
not refuse L.’s kindly offered company home, though
there was no need of an escort in her case at all,
and the lame girl in her department always went a
much longer distance home entirely unnoticed by
this gentleman. But she had few friends, because
she was poor, as the world goes, and it was a genuine
relief from her own thoughts at times to listen to
his conversation, pure in itself, yet careless, free and
jolly. She did not repel his mild caress at parting.
He had been so respectful and kind, and her own
nature responded so readily to his magnetism that
she could not. He had asked her to accompany
him to an entertainment she very much wished to
attend, and though her good common sense loudly
said “No!” her lips had answered him “Yes.” That
was a night of trial for Mary Borden. Her uncle,
who had given her a home after the death of her
parents, was an invalid, and entirely too poor to sup¬
port her. If she left her present place of employ¬
ment she could not hope to find another soon. But
she had the wisdom to recognize her own weakness,
and the growing danger of her position if she remained
there any longer, and the morning’s postman deliv¬
ered a note from her to the head of the firm, saying
she was obliged to resign her place at once.

A few hours later L. himself called “ to see if she
was ill,” he said, and to tell her the proprietors valued
her services very highly, and hoped she would return

to her old place, or a better one soon, if she would

*

STRENGTH OF WILL.

349

accept it. She replied that it would be impossible to
return. Her aunt left the room and they were alone.

Mr. L. said he would miss her presence there more
than he could easily express ; that he had learned to
regard her as his own sister and — but the girl inter¬
rupted him. In writing the note the night before she
had taken one step in what she thought was the right
direction, and she was now much stronger to follow
cool, good sense. She interrupted him at once, saying
she knew that the circumstances surrounding their lives
made it altogether improper for them to entertain any
such sentiments, and she hoped he would not embar¬
rass her further. His face looked sad and, indeed,
pained, and he drew nearer to her, saying, “Why, Miss
Borden, I have certainly never offended you willingly,
for no one can esteem you more than I, or have
a higher respect for you.” She had never been
approached so before. His manner had always been
gentlemanly, and she was not able to argue with him.
She saw one fact plainly, and what she had already
done strengthened her Will to speak that fact out at
once. “ Mr. L., knowing what you do of your circum¬
stances and mine, if you really had any true respect for
me you would not be in this house at all. Please
excuse me.” His face took on a brazen look, and he
left the house without more words. Thus a Will not
naturally strong was guarded by the thoughtful mind,
and in moments when a proper choice was easiest, took
such steps as would strengthen itself to make a proper
choice at all times.

I

350

THE WILL.

It is universally conceded that of two persons, the
one possessing a brilliant Intellect and a weak Will,
and the other a moderate Intellect and a resolute
Will, the latter has by far the better chances for
success in his life-work, whatever that may be.

CULTIVATION OF THE WILL.

This faculty, like all others, has its extreme, which
must be avoided ; it is called obstinacy, or stubborn¬
ness. But there are vastly more people with Wills
too weak than too strong. It is susceptible of
cultivation, and we are to proceed about its improve¬
ment in the same way that we would about that of
any other faculty. But one rule need be given ^ fix
firmly upon some reasonable purpose, and then per¬
sist in it ; never leave anything half-done without
the weightiest reasons. The very strongest aid that
can be given a weak Will is a well-formed habit.

L&

<i?

have seen in the preceding pages
how the bodily nature of man,
while showing its similarity to
the . animal world, yet is fitted
to be the home of a higher intelli¬
gence than is found in any animal. The
machinery and methods by which the body
grows and is sustained, the system of nerves
which form the medium of action of mind
upon body, and the importance of perfect
health and strength, both for a better life
to-day and for a better life in the children

of the future, were briefly but plainly shown.

And following that, the mental nature of man was

analyzed, and we saw in the Intellect those quali¬
ties or capacities of mind called intuitive faculties,
seeming to be inherent in the nature of all men,
forming an inner life and coloring the existence of
all in a similar manner; the five senses which form

the highways for a knowledge of all outside things

351

/

GENERAL SUMMARY.

352

to enter the mind ; and how men know things and
reason about them, and dwell upon them in memory
and imagination. And in the Sensibilities, how our
feelings thrill our nerves and quicken the circulation
of the blood, giving rise to the popular notion which
places the home of the feelings in the heart ; we
noted the simple emotions that spring up almost
without thought, and the rational emotions which
more or less call into play the reasoning powers ;
the affections of love and hate, which influence the
lives of all ; the desires we hold in common with
the most ordinary animals, and the desires which
mark us as creatures of the highest intelligence.
Following that, the nature and functions of the Will
were examined ; and looking back at the other two
branches of the mind we saw how the Intellect,
following a stream of thought may come upon an
idea which will arouse some one of the elements
of the Sensibilities — will startle the heart, as it
were — and produce a hastening pulse and glow of
the feelings ; and in turn, how the feelings may,
and too often do, suggest to the Intellect what
shqll hold its attention. Then confining our view
to the Will, we saw the power of habit, the science
of motives, and how a man, understanding the ten¬
dencies of habits and thoughts, and throwing himself
into line with helping influences, becomes a being
with free choice, — in harmony with law a free
moral agent. This shows that man should be a
creator of circumstances rather than a creature of

GENERAL SUMMARY.

353

circumstances, and that each human being is a free,
causative Spirit. As the Intellect is built upon the
body, as the Sensibilities are built upon both body
and Intellect, and as by all three of these existing
as they do, a free Will becomes possible, so finally
above and upon all, as the finishing act of creation,
is man’s spiritual nature.

These facts brought us to the question : If man

can control his course, which way shall that course

lie? If he can arrest the stream of thought in his

mind, in what direction shall he endeavor to turn it ?

In short, what acts, mental or bodily, or both, are

right and proper ? And we turned for answer to

the fact in nature that all the vast volume of earth

governed by simpler forces is used as the base upon

¥

which the creator built a plant life and an animal
life governed by forces more and more complex;
and find it suggested that man, in turn, should
wisely cherish and use the broader, the baser, the
animal side of himself, to subserve his higher in¬
telligence, the more complex forces of his spiritual
side ; that he should compare himself with the ani¬
mals, not to become a refined and more powerful
animal, but to develop the new forces added to
his nature, and become something really more and
higher than any animal.

Thus man finds every precept of philosopher or
saint which points him toward a higher life, to be
founded in that law of creation forever building

upon lower and simpler forms of existence other

23

354

GENERAL SUMMARY.

forms more complex and higher. Thus will he
take care to respect both the truth that is known
and the possibilities of the truth that is yet un¬
known, to reverence the philosophy of mystery as
well as the philosophy of fact. Neither will he
neglect any one part of his nature, to unduly de¬
velop another, but while he trains the creative power
of imagination for a flight into spiritual lands, he
will remember the feeling which clasps his hand
forever to the hand of his brother.

With such conceptions of truth and of life, that
outgrowth of his nature known as Duty will never
cease to be his earnest study.

9

ORIGIN OF DUTY.

AD man been made a stone —
lifeless, witless, inert, — he would
indeed have never felt what we
call obligations or responsibili¬
ties. The stone, incapable of
thought or action, awaits the
moving force of a thinking being, or lies
through ages the sport of circumstances.
It is not in the nature of a stone to have
a duty to perform. The idea is absurd.

But as a result of mans nature, he is
hedged about on all sides with obligations
and responsibilities. He must act, and
every act will be as surely followed by some result,
and every result will in some way reflect upon the
actor. Such is the law of his nature. If he says,
“ I will not act,” then immediately the elements of
his being begin to decay. Inaction is death. Even

the idle thoughts that are allowed to occupy the mind

355

356

DUTY.

leave their impressions behind, as the waves ripple
the sand on the shore ; the impressions harden and
remain! Nowhere can a man turn and escape the
responsibilities which are the direct outcome of his
natural make-up. Trying to think of a rational being
without duties to perform is as absurd as trying to
bring a su\t in law against a slab of marble. Human
existence is a battle in which there can be no retreat.
Cowards are not even allowed to die. Every one
must either fight bravely or suffer miserably.

But a grand discovery breaks upon us here. The
enemy has never yet proven invincible, and the brave
fighters are always finding happiness. A duty care¬
fully ascertained and faithfully done never failed to
make the doer better, and betterment is the correct
name for happiness. It is as natural as the falling
of the dew.

The study of the origin and nature of duty, then,
becomes one of boundless importance and unceasing
interest.

It has just been said that duty is the natural result
of mans peculiar make-up. By his Intellect he sees
and knows things, and reasons upon them. Through
his Sensibilities come the whole ranee of feelines that
impel him toward action. In the Will is found his
power to act or not, as he freely chooses. Shall he
act? How? His choice in this matter decides the
direction or tendency of his life. When we see a person
going toward the east, we rightly think he has some
object to attain in that direction. Does my way lie to

ORIGIN OF DUTY.

357

the east ? What shall the direction of my life be ?
Thus does the study of the nature of man bring us
to this question. Thus do we see why it is forever
present in the minds of all. What shall the direction
of my life be?

The course of Nature has always been from the
lower toward the higher. (Read page 338.) This is
the underlying lesson of all history, and of all natural
laws. From the lowest germs of life in creation up
to the highest rank of intelligence, each successive step
points up to something higher, and appears but to pave

%

the way for some more perfect form of being.

To be in accord, then, with the common law of
Nature, the direction of my life must be upward,
onward and upward forever, toward that divine per¬
fection which planned the universe. Every part of
man’s nature must be held to its true place and use,
and all must point toward the continued elevation and
perfection of the highest element, the ruling Spirit
(See page 343) of the man. The supreme aim of life,

the measure which is to stand in man’s Intellect

•

(reason) as a guide for his choice, is found. This
constant endeavor to attain a higher degree of perfec¬
tion in our nature agrees not only with the law of ’
Nature but with all true and pure religion.

But this supreme end always in view is not enough.
The questions will come up daily, almost hourly : Is
this the true road toward perfection? Will this aid
me on my chosen way, or will it retard me? In other
words: Is it right, or is it wrong? What ought I

358

DUTY.

to do? These questions should be answered clearly
and decisively ; and our actions should be regulated
in accordance with the answers given. The right
should never be pushed aside for the sake of the
expedient. But in order to do the right, it is first
necessary to know the right, and to this end some
plain and simple rule is of the utmost practical value.

A duty is something that we owe ; that is the mean¬
ing of the word ; it is derived from a word which
means “owed” Honesty, a payment of our just debts,
then, lies at the base of all duty, and may be taken
at once as a simple and comprehensive rule for all
our lives, as we move on toward our one great aim.
Because it is visibly the highest aim we could possi¬
bly have; and because, as we have just seen, it is our
natural duty to carry ourselves to the highest point
of development within our power to reach ; perfection
is to be our end, and a complete honesty is to be our
plain and common guide.

What a glorious word is that, Duty ! and what a
glorious man is he who always keeps it in his mind,

and shapes his conduct by it! His outward circum¬

stances may be comparatively mean, but he is intrin¬
sically far nobler than the rich or high-born barbarian
who passes him haughtily by on the street. It may
be that in following the behests of duty he will be
compelled to go directly contrary to that which the

NOBILITY OF DUTY.

359

world thinks right and fitting. For this he may be
contemned or persecuted. But if his greatness and
nobility are not now understood and recognized, they
will be sometime, after the heat of present competi¬
tions has had time to die away. Then his character

\

will shine out, and be the splendid center of light
for all his age. Beautiful it is to see and understand
that no worth, known or unknown, can die, even in
this world. The work an unknown good man has
done is like a vein of water flowing under the
ground, secretly making the verdure green ; it flows
on and on, gathering strength by the way ; some day
it will break forth a living well, where many a weary
traveler will find rest, and will be refreshed. It has
ever been so, and it will always continue to be so;
the honest, duty-loving man, in the midst of base
time-servers, cannot but receive the love and admira¬
tion of all right-thinking men.

The pride of every period in history is the names
of its noble men whose sense of honor and honesty
was so complete that they never allowed a thought
of self to mar the discharge of every duty. What
must have been the feelings of John Maynard as he
stood at the wheel of the burning vessel, and the
captain calling through the flames, “Can you hold
us to the shore?” His voice went back clear and
strong, “Aye, aye, sir.” It was his to know that
the fire was cutting off the last chance of his own
escape ; that all on board were at the farther end of
the boat, next the shore, which was near at hand;

36°

DUTY.

that their lives depended upon his running the ves¬
sel aground the shore. In every breast of that
trembling company was one question, Would the
pilot stay at the wheel ? and their hearts stood still
in suspense. None could reach Maynard. No one
knows what his prayers were. The last words that
ever reached mortal ears were the faithful promise,
“ Aye, aye, sir.” That was his last promise, and he
fulfilled it completely. All but himself were saved.
No one asks if John Maynard sprang from some
famous family. It is enough to know that his was
the mettle of which heroes are made.

But let it not be forgotten that duty seldom calls
men to such sublime positions as that just described.
It is in the common trials of every-day life, and to
tasks that seem little, that duty calls us oftenest ;
and it is in these that we may see the true worth
of people. That nation is weak, indeed, whose young
men have not the spirit to become John Maynards.
Such weaklings make our faithless lovers, our default¬
ers, our promise breakers, our wife deserters and
dishonest scoundrels.

Iappiness IN f ulfilling Duty.

It has already been said that the greatest develop¬
ment of any part of our nature was favorable to all
the others, and that the unhealthy condition of one
part was likely to show itself in the weakness of others.
We shall find here a good illustration of this statement.

HAPPINESS OF FULFILLING DUTY. 361

Few persons are so depraved as not to suffer the
pangs of remorse when they have consciously done
wrong. This remorse is the keenest of all sorrows ;
it seems to eat into the very life, and gnaw at the
vitals with its pitiless fangs. The agony of Prome¬
theus, chained to a rock and eaten alive by vultures,
was as nothing compared with the misery of him who
is tortured by an outraged conscience. The spectre
of a crime once committed will haunt the unfortunate
doer of the deed until his mind and body go down in
ruin. A man’s health cannot long resist the attacks
of that terrible mental torture which follows after a
crime of any magnitude ; and the more sensitive and
true his organization, the less the crime required to
unsettle his mind and weaken his body.

Duplicity, dishonesty, and other forms of wrong

%

doing, destroy that noble frankness and independence
of soul that is so admirable. How can a person who
has just been lying to some one, or cheating him,
face you with a square, honest look in his eyes, and
talk to you frankly and fairly? No, something of that
furtive, mean, sneaking nature that belongs to cheaters
and to double-dealers, will inevitably cling to him
wherever he goes, and in whatever he does. It will,
after a time, become impossible for him to do anything
directly, everything must be accomplished by circui¬
tous methods ; the short, straight, honest path will
invariably be deserted for the sake of the questionable
pleasure he finds in traveling a crooked one.

It is only by virtue and the doing of our duty that

362 ' - DUTY.

we can be happy. There is no pleasure that can be
compared with that of a consciousness that we have
done right, performed our whole duty, in any given
case; especially when in so doing, we have been
obliged to surmount great obstacles and overcome
many temptations. Such an act raises our own self-
respect, and makes us feel stronger and better.

“There’s life alone in duty done,

And rest alone in striving,”

says Whittier, and the good old Quaker poet never
said anything truer or nobler. Here is a pleasure
which never palls, but which is as fresh in old age
as in youth — the joy in duty done. The boy or
girl at school is never so happy as after a day of
hard, earnest work, an honest attempt to perform
the day’s whole duty. So, the man or woman is
happiest when he or she can look back in the even¬
ing over a day unsullied by any wrong act, and all
has been done that should have been done.

4

1

OF

LTHOUGH human obligation, or duty, does
not naturally divide itself into parts, it will
appear that our obligations take three
forms ; we owe duties in three separate
places : we owe them to our Creator, to
ourselves, and to other people. Yet it must
always be remembered that these branches into which
our duties run are so closely related to each other that
we cannot fully discharge the duties due in one place
while neglecting those in another.

The Creator has placed us here upon the earth,
surrounded us with everything that could be needed
for our comfort, pleasure, or advancement ; given us
dominion, and power to enforce that dominion, over
whatever else than man inhabits the earth ; granted us
free use of the four great elements, earth, air, water and
fire, which intelligence has transformed into so many
powerful servants ; and more than all else, he has given
to us the lordliest faculties and powers possessed by
any creature. Now, what does he ask in return? Evi¬
dently that we shall use and improve these powers
and advantages so bountifully bestowed upon us. The
familiar parable of the talents will teach a lesson here.

The master was pleased with the conduct of the ser-

363

ANALYSIS OF DUTY.

3^4

vants who, having received five and two talents, brought
back ten and four respectively ; whereas he repri¬
manded the one who simply returned the amount given
him. So the maker of us all will be, I imagine, best
pleased with him who shall by use have doubled or
trebled the power given him ; while the one who buries
his natural faculties in the earth, and never strives to
improve them, will be reprimanded as a slothful and
dishonest servant who has sadly failed to perform his
duties and discharge his debt. We owe duties to our¬
selves, because it is to our evident interest and advan¬
tage that we should advance and grow in power. The
very acme of power of all kinds is plainly what it
would be most desirable that we should reach. Clearly,,
then, it is otir duty to ourselves to make the utmost
use of those faculties which we have received from
nature, and to exercise and cultivate them until they
have attained the highest strength of which they are
capable.

Our duty of making the most of ourselves as a way
of paying our debt to the world, stands on clear,
strong ground. For many centuries the world has
been at work producing comforts and conveniences
which are enjoyed mainly by those who live after the
time of the immediate devisers of them. It is so
working now. New comforts are constantly being
thought out. Society furnishes schools to educate our
children ; prisons and officers to protect us from
the criminal classes — all sorts of labor-saving, pleasure¬
giving safety and increasing appliances are about our

ANALYSIS OF DUTY.

365

doors. All these \ve constantly employ, and profit
by. Certainly now, in return for all these blessings
which we enjoy at the hand of society, we must owe
it something — and what? The answer is not far
below the surface. Since society is doing all it can
for our good, plainly our duty in return must be to do
all we can for its good ; which is, at the same time,
the best we can do for ourselves, namely, do the best
we can with our powers, use them in the right, with
all the energy we possess, and thereby raise them to
their highest strength. This is all we can do, and it
is little enough — the efforts of an individual to balance
the efforts of a million,. dead and living, hard-working
philanthropists, besides all the uncounted millions of
those whose contributions to the world’s progress
have been slight, or made altogether, from selfish
motives. But, if everyone ; nay, if one half of the
people of the world, would do their duty, honestly
and faithfully, our progress toward the ‘'golden goal”
Yve aim at would be immeasurably smoother and
more rapid.

We cannot in any manner escape from duty. The
hermit who withdraws himself from society, and refuses
to partake of the advantages offered him by the world,
may seemingly relieve himself in this way of the duties
he owes to society in return for its favors. He may,
perhaps, acting in the double capacity of debtor and
creditor, set himself free from all obligations to himself.
But supposing both these to be possible — whether
they are, may well be doubted — he cannot get rid

ANALYSIS OF DUTY.

366

of the duties he owes to his Creator. That debt
has already been contracted and can be discharged
only by a life of honest toil and endeavor ; and as
the duty to the Creator, to himself and to the world
is the same, whatever way he turns he cannot escape
that great duty, which includes all others, of the
best use and highest improvement of all his powers.
No steps he can take will interfere with that in the
slightest degree, and to neglect it is a crime against
his Maker, against himself, and against his fellow-men.

THEORIES OF THE RIGHT.

There have been many theories concerning the
highest good and the supreme rule of right — all
containing some elements of truth, and all leading to
nearly the same final results. One 'of the most com¬
mon ideas is that advanced so long ago by Epicurus:
that “happiness is our being’s end and aim.” This
does away with right altogether, and leaves nothing
but expediency to be considered. The question is
no longer “Is it right?” but “Will it pay?” I think
it has appeared and will appear in the course of these
pages, that the greatest amount of happiness will, in
the end, at least, always flow from right action. But
to make pleasure our aim, and bend all things to it,
is to crown selfishness king of life, and to stifle
many of the noblest impulses of our nature. Our
very charity would proceed, not from any desire to
better the condition of our fellow-men, but simply
from the pain of living in contact with people in

THEORIES OF THE RIGHT.

367

distress. If we refrain from trespassing upon the
rights of others, it is not from any sense of duty or
right, but merely because such a course could 'pro¬
duce more pain than pleasure. Although this system
leads, in the right hands, to the same practical
results as the others, I cannot think it either the
noblest, or the safest.

Another very common idea is, that the intuitive
knowledge of right and wrong, commonly called con¬
science, is the highest law of right ; that every one
knows intuitively what is right and what is not, and
that in all questions of right and wrong he should
trust his conscience, and seek no other guide. All
this is, to a great extent, true, and yet conscience
hardly deserves the praise of infallibility. It depends
too much upon the education. The Hindu mother
throws her child into the Ganges river as an offer-
ing to the gods. Many races have sacrificed human
beings to their various deities. Dissenters, or here¬
tics, as the fanaticism of the age styled them, were
tortured in the most fiendish ways, and burned at
the stake, only a few centuries ago, on account of
their theological opinions. To this day some of the
people in Mexico inflict the severest of punishment
upon themselves, and for no other especial reason
than as an annual mark of their repentance for the
wrongs they have done during the year. All this
is the work of mistaken conscience. It is evident
that conscience is not alone a very safe guide unless
we strive constantly to increase our knowledge of

ANALYSIS OF DUTY.

368

right and wrong, and thus enlighten the judgment
and educate the conscience aright.

ALL DUTIES ONE.

It was indicated a page or two back that the
duties we owe to the Creator, to ourselves, and to
the world, are not separate duties, but only one grand
obligation by which we are bound in all three quarters,
namely, the obligation to make the best possible use
of all our faculties, and thereby to raise them to the
highest degree of power which they are capable of
reaching. He who earnestly and honestly does this,
striving after perfection with his whole soul, will rarely
go amiss in the particular affairs of every-day life.

But, though all duties are thus embodied in one
great duty, they meet us practically as separate duties ;
and while those which are owed to other people are
owed also to ourselves and to the Creator, and vice
versa , yet on the surface certain ones appear to be
particularly due to ourselves, certain others to the
world, etc., and for convenience’ sake, we will follow
these surface distinctions and make an arbitrary clas¬
sification of duties thus : duties to ourselves, duties
to other people, duties growing out of the relation¬
ship of home, duties to government, and duties to
our Creator. In this way they will be discussed, only

mentioning once more that the classification has no

\

scientific basis, but is one of convenience alone, as
each and every one of them arise equally out of the
nature of man.

Mental and Physical Nature of Man. (For Complete Analysis, see pages 24 and 25.)

\

ANALYSIS OF DUTY.

/'Duties to Self.

> Duty.

Self-Protection.

Self-Torture.
Suicide.

Protection of Body.!

Licentiousness.
Health.

' Avarice.

Ambition.

Anger.

(protection of Mind.( ™esyjenceand

Vanity. [Servility.
False Honor.
Hypocrisy.

Of the Body.

'Common Sense.
Knowledge.

Taste.

Of the Mind. ■{ The Sensibilities.

The Will.

Perseverance.
Self-Knowledge. [Heroism.

Industry- [ness.

[■Honorable Shrewd-

f [Honesty in Business.-^ Equal Chances.

Honesty, -i Mental Honesty. [Pay as You Go.
[Universal Honesty.

Sympathy.

Gratitude.

Self-Culture. -

Duties to Others. <

Courtesy. , politeness.

False Pride and Insolence.

I

[May we ever Falsify.

Truthfulness. -| Evil Speaking.

[Exaggeration.

rhnritv i Where and How to Give,
k^narity. j porgiveness and Mercy.

r f Proper Choice of Persons.

Of Lover and Sweetheart. J, Love.

[Mutual Honesty.

Duties in the
Relations
of Home.

Of Husband and Wife.

Of Parents and Children.

'Fidelity and Honesty.

Patience.

Continued Affection.

Sharing Cares and Joys.

„ Mutual Kindness.

Education of Head and Heart.
Mutual Respect.

Discipline.

Mutual Love and Kindness.

Of Brothers and Sisters.

Forbearance and Kindness.
Love and Unity.

[Employers.

[Respect andKindness of

Of Masters and Servants. Obedience and Faithfulness.

[Honesty of Employes.

jDf Teachers and Pupils.

The Teacher’s Work.
Character-Building.

Discipline.

Mutual Kindness and Respect.

[ Obedience.

~ a ~ . I Financial Support.

Duties to Government, -j Support in

[Moral Support.

.Duties to the Creator.

TO

m

MAN owes to himself two princi¬
pal duties, namely: self-protection
and self-culture, both of which in¬
volve a number of other important
things ; and besides these, there are,
notably, two other important duties
which every individual owes to himself.
They are self-knowledge and industry. A
full presentation of our duties to self may
be seen at a glance, in the upper por¬
tion of the complete analysis of Duty, on
page 369.

If man’s one great end, or duty, is to strive after
perfection, he evidently cannot allow any of the facul¬
ties of his present life to decay ; and not only that,
he must be constantly improving them. The young
person who speaks of his education as being completed,
has just begun this task. Whatever may be his age
or advancement in life, man’s first two duties to self
are self-protection and self-culture. The first of these

370

SELF-TORTURE.

371

will now be examined, and, for convenience of refer¬
ence, its analysis is presented here :

r Protection

of Body.

Self-Torture.
Suicide.
Self-Defense.
Intemperance.
Licentiousness.
I Health.

Self-Protection. <

♦

Protection

of Mind.

V

" Avarice.

Ambition.

Anger.

Jealousy.

Independence and Servility.
Vanity.

False Honor.

^ Hypocrisy.

SELF-TORTURE.

If the position already several times stated be a
true one, namely, that the body, the mind, and the
soul, or spirit, are three parts of one man, each essen¬
tial to his existence, and the healthful activity of each
necessary to the well-being of the others, we are at
once led to the conclusion, that to wilfully injure any
part of the three-fold system is wrong, working against
our highest duty and noblest destiny. It is wronging
ourselves, and it is wronging him who put us here
to work and improve, and who will, as most people
believe, some day demand an account of the talents
intrusted to our care. Besides, it is wronging the

3/2

DUTIES TO SELF.

world, which has a claim upon every man who lives
in it. You enjoy the accumulated knowledge and
power of all ages. You are clothed, fed, housed, and
warmed by the efforts of the world ; by its exertions
you are furnished with the means of culture ; and the
world has a right to expect in return, that you should
reach the highest point possible to you, that you
should reward its efforts by efforts of your own, that
you should give it something for the much it has

given you/ You are defrauding it then, if you do

*

not put forth strenuous exertions for your own bet¬
terment and that of society, or if you, in any way,
wilfully incapacitate yourself for such exertions.

It would seem from this that the devotees of the
middle ages, when they so horribly torturpd their
bodies, were not merely unwise, but worse ; they were
wronging themselves, wronging the world, and wrong¬
ing the God whom they adored and thought to honor
in this mistaken way. Far better, had they spent their
time in cultivating all their powers to the highest
degree, and giving the world some benefit of the
freedom from petty cares which they enjoyed by its
bounty. Who can compute the good they might have
done, had their ideas been less contracted, their culture
broader and more liberal, and their united energies
expended in ways more worthy of them ? The world
would not have groped so long in the Cimmerian night
of ignorance. The dark ages would have been ages
refulgent with light. The pages of history would not
be blotted with the unsightly names of the inquisition

SELF-TORTURE.

o/o

and the star chamber, the rack and the stake. The
thousand tales of political and religious cruelty would
not now have to be told. Still, if a guiltless wrong¬
doer be a possibility, these men were such ; for they
honestly believed they were doing the right, and they
were in earnest about it — a great thing in itself. And,
moreover, they did a vast amount of good, more good
than harm, great as the latter certainly was.

If it is wrong to torture the body from the pure

*

and lofty motives of religion, it is surely much more
wrong to torture it from the comparatively trivial
motives of dress. I do not propose here to enter
into a long homily upon the evils of fashionable
dress, but only to point out the fact that it is some¬
thing worse than foolishness, if we so clothe our¬
selves as to interfere with the functions of any part
of the body. It is only too true that thousands
upon thousands of persons are to-day reaping the
bitter fruits of their own and their parent’s folly
and — shall we call it crime? Think of it, mothers;
It is a wrong done not merely to the somewhat
vague world at large, but to your own children,
if for the sake of attaining a fashionable form, or
appearing clad in fashionable attire, you weaken and
dwarf your physical system.

Another way which people, and especially Ameri¬
can people, have of torturing themselves and crippling
their whole beings, is overwork. We are a young
nation, without very much of a past, but with a mag¬
nificent future ; and each individual of us is anxious

374

DUTIES TO SELF.

that a large portion of that prospective future great¬
ness shall be his. We are passing through a regular
“ storm and stress” period of our national life — a
“storm and stress” of business. Not a single hour
out of the twenty-four is sacred from toil. The over¬
tasked business man racks his mind and body from
early in the morning till late at night, keeping them
at a constant tension that cannot be other than most
destructive to their health and vitality. The house¬
wife who is trying to support a large family and
keep up an appearance of wealth, on small means,
rises at five or six, and rarely closes her eyes before
midnight. Are you surprised that she is a poor,
broken-down, dispirited creature ? She has no time,
or rather she takes no time, to cultivate her mind
and soul, or even to revive the exhausted energies
of her body. Enjoyment is a word of whose mean¬
ing she has not the slightest conception. We do
wrong to live at such a terrible rate. Money-getting
is not the only thing to be attended to in this world.
Properly it is but a small part of our work, and we
ought not to let it thus usurp our whole life, and
drive out of our minds things which are much nobler.

With a great many it is not the great amount
of work they do, but the great worry about it that
wears out their very life. It is not easy to exagge¬
rate the evils of continued and excessive excitement.
Hugh Miller, the distinguished geologist, died by
his own hand, as the effect of too much work. The
following is a contemporary account of the circum-

DUTIES TO SELF.

375

stances: “He possessed an extraordinary mind; but
gifted and capable as it was, he overstrained and
overtasked it, became insane for the moment, and
committed the fatal act which hurried him into
eternity. He left behind him a brief letter to his
wife, in which he said that ‘his brain was on fire,’
and that ‘a fearful dream was upon him.’ Fearful,
indeed, for it maddened, and induced him to place a
pistol to his own breast. It appears that he had long
been engaged on an elaborate work, entitled ‘The
Testimony of the Rocks.’ At this he had labored
for days and months, and sometimes, indeed, until
long after midnight. Thus, at last, his intellect gave
evidence of disorder ; he became the prey of strange
fears, and fancied that his faculties were failing him.
It is stated that a few weeks before his death, the
light was seen to glimmer through his window at an
early hour in the morning, and that his untiring labor
began to tell upon his mental health. He had always
been somewhat apprehensive of being attacked by
footpads, and had carried loaded firearms about his
person. Latterly, having occasion sometimes to return
to Portobello from Edinburgh, at unseasonable hours,
he had furnished himself with a revolver. But now,
to all his old fears as to attacks upon his person, there
was added an exciting and overmastering impression
that his house, and especially that museum, the fruit
of so much care, which was contained in a separate
outer building, were exposed to the assaults of
burglars. He read all the recent stories of house

376 DUTIES TO SELF.

robberies. He believed that one night lately, an
actual attempt to break in upon his museum had been
made. Visions of ticket-of-leave men, prowling about
his premises, haunted him by day and by night. The
revolver, which lay nightly near him, was not enough.
A broad-bladed dagger was kept beside it, while
behind him, at his bed-head, a claymore stood ready
at hand. About a week before his fatal end, a new
and more aggravated feature of cerebral disorder
showed itself in sudden and singular sensations in his
head. They came on only after lengthened intervals.
They did not last long, but were intensely violent.
The terrible idea that his brain was deeply and hope¬
lessly diseased, that his mind was on the verge of
ruin, took hold of him, and stood out before his eye
in all that appalling magnitude in which such an
imagination as his alone could picture it. And thus,
at .last, he corrected some proofs of his last volume,
went to his chamber and took a bath, and then, no
doubt, tortured, bewildered, and agonized by the
horrid imaginings, that had so lately beset him, he
seized a loaded revolver, placed it to his breast, and
was, in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, in another
world.”

SUICIDE.

Suicide is only heightened injury done to our¬
selves. It is wrong for us to neglect to maintain
our powers in full health ; it is surely more wrong
to cut them off altogether. There is something

o o

SUICIDE.

^ »~T

3/ /

fascinating- in suicide, and in some ages it has been
regarded as honorable to leave the world in a fit of
righteous indignation against it, or to refuse to battle
longer with the troubles that assail one here.

Has not a man the right to remove himself from a
world of sorrow, if he so desires? No moral right
whatever. It certainly accords much better with the
exalted nature of man that he should struggle on,
doing always the best that he can, than that he should
weakly give up the fight and retreat to he knows
not what. I like that saying of rugged Scotch Car¬
lyle, that man “ is born to expend every particle of
strength that God Almighty has given him, in doing
the work he finds he is fit for; to stand up to it
to the last breath of life, and do his best.”

Speaking of the prevalence of suicide, a promi¬
nent daily paper said recently: “Unless universal
insanity be admitted as the cause for self-destruction,
it is difficult to conceive of any grosser form of self¬
ishness. A man deliberately and wilfully rushes away
from financial troubles that his wife and children
may bear the brunt, or a woman puts an end to
herself that she may escape the misery of her spoiled
existence. In both cases the trouble, with a heavy
addition, is thrown upon those surviving. Even if
the suicide leaves his family in comfortable circum¬
stances he cannot take the life stain from his
children. Neither time, nor generosity, nor custom,
can efface this.” True; it is cowardice to die by
our own hand, and leave those who look to us for

378

DUTIES TO SELF.

protection to face difficulties and troubles that we
thus refuse to meet.

“’Tis not courage, when the darts of chance
Are thrown against our state, to turn our backs,

And basely run to death; as if the hand
Of heaven and* nature had lent nothing else
T’ oppose against mishap, but loss of life,

Which is to fly, and not to conquer it.”

SELF-DEFENSE.

Closely connected with the subject of suicide, is
that of self-defense. Has a man the right to defend
himself, or must he literally turn the other cheek?
It seems that if you have not the right to injure
yourself, no one else has that right, certainly, and
you may properly prevent him from doing so, should
he attempt it. But the right of self-defense does
not imply that of vengence. “ Vengeance is mine,
saith the Lord.” You may go only so far as is, in
your best judgment, necessary in order to protect
yourself, but to that full extent you may properly
go, even if it should require you to take the life of
your assailant. Such is the decision of the laws of
our land.

But of far more frequent occurrence is the ruin of
the whole man by the various passions. Body, mind
and spirit go down in the general wreck, victims
of the overmastering force of unregulated impulse.
Though the three elements are equally necessary to
a full manhood, they have not and should not have

SELF-DEFENSE.

37 9

equal authority. The reasoning and moral faculties
ought to be supreme, and the body should be kept
in constant subjection to them. There is no properly
organized man or woman who cannot, by a little
exercise of the Will power, keep all his or her appe¬
tites and passions under full control. The person
who habitually falls into ungovernable anger, or who-
allows his appetite for stnong drink to rule him, has but
himself to blame for his misfortunes. A little resolute
firmness before it was too late would have secured
to him complete command over the rebellious pas¬
sions. Whoever ventures to disregard this injunc¬
tion of nature is certain to reap the whirlwind from
sowing such seed. Who is there that cannot call
to mind some acquaintance who has brought down
destruction upon his head by undue indulgence of
some part of his animal nature?

INTEMPERANCE.

The blear eye, the unsteady hand, the tottering
form, the halting tongue, are familiar to everybody.
They speak a well-known language, and tell of the
general devastation of bright prospects and brilliant
powers. Some idea of the extent of the ruin wrought
by intemperate use of strong drink may be had from
the following extract from a sermon delivered in New
York city, October 15, 1882: “There are one million
drunkards in the United States to-day; sixty thousand
of the people annually die drunkards; one hundred
thousand men and women are annually sent to prison

DUTIES TO SELF.

330

through this iniquity ; two hundred thousand chil¬
dren thrown on the charity of the world by alcohol¬
ism. Judge Allison says that fully four fifths of the
crime committed in this country is committed under
the influence of strong drink. In Canada, out of
twenty-eight thousand two hundred and eighty-four
commitments to jail, twenty-one thousand two hun¬
dred and thirty-six committed their crime under the
influence of strong drink. Dr. Harris, inspector of
the prisons of New York state, says that eighty-five
out of every one hundred cases of all the crime is
the result of intemperance. There are thirty thou¬
sand maniacs and idiots now as a result of intemper¬
ance. England pays four hundred thousand dollars
y'early for alcoholic insane paupers. Mrs. Comstock,
the Quaker missionary, says that out of one hundred
and fifteen thousand prisoners one hundred and five
thousand were incarcerated by. their intemperance.
It is estimated that ninety-nine one-hundredths of
the children not going to school in this country are
the children of drunkards. The cost of, and ruin
by, rum in this country, is one billion two hundred
millions of dollars annually. In Edwards county,
Illinois, it was decided, twenty-seven years ago, that

they would have no rum in the county, and in

%

twenty-five years only one person was sent to the
penitentiary, and he committed a crime while drunk
from rum got in another county. The most of the
time the jail has been empty. There are only two
or three paupers in all the county. The tax is

INTEMPERANCE.

38 r

thirty-two per cent lower than the neighboring coun¬
ties, though their tax-rolls show more property than
any other county in the state of equal size. The
court in that county sits three days in the year.”

But even worse than the destruction of so many
common lives and the production of so much crime,,
is the sad havoc which the passion for stimulants

of various kinds makes among the most brilliant,

intellects. Edgar _ Allen Poe, one of the finest of
American poets, died of delirium tremens at the
early age of thirty-eight. Richard Parson, one of
the very greatest of scholars, had such a raging
thirst that he would drink almost any thing. Spirits
of wine for the lamp, ink, and an embrocation, are
among the draughts he is said to have swallowed.
After a banquet, he would pour the dregs of wine

from the glasses of the guests into one glass and

drink them. He died aged forty-eight. Alexander
the Great,

“The youth who all things but himself subdued,”

after conquering so much of the world as was then

known to the Greeks, died from the effects of too

%

much wine at a banquet, aged only thirty-two. Robert
Burns, the greatest poet of Scotland, died at thirty-
•seven, having1 shortened his life and rendered him-

self and his family miserable by a too free use of

\

liquor. Coleridge and De Quincy, two of the greatest
literary men of their time, destroyed their magnificent
powers of mind by the use of opium.

382

DUTIES TO SELF.

No man has a right thus to defeat the highest
purpose of his existence, to cheat the world out of
the services which he owes it, to subject those who
are dependent upon him to the ills of poverty, and
to bring down disgrace and obloquy upon the inno¬
cent ones whose fate is united to his by the bonds
of law or nature.

LICENTIOUSNESS.

Frightful as are the evils of intemperance, enormous
as is the misery which it entails upon the world each
year, there is another vice, equally wide-spread, which
is said by competent judges to be even more destruc¬
tive of life and happiness. No one can form the
faintest conception of the horrors of licentiousness.
Who has not walked the streets of our large cities,
and seen there the haggard faces of men and women,
old though young, weak and worn by debauchery,
almost breathing corruption upon the air. Nothing
is holy or pure to them, or if it is, it only excites their
hungry desire to pollute it. As you pass them, they
fasten their eyes upon you with a brazen stare, and
you see their features, loathsome with disease and the
evidences of crime. Nor is that all: this vice breaks
in upon the family circle, gnaws like a canker at the
happiness of home, parts husband and wife, parent
and child, asunder. How many homes has it destroyed !
It has entered with unblushing face many a royal
palace, and whole nations have felt its curse. The
English Reformation with its long series of cruel per-

LICENTIOUSNESS.

seditions on both sides, began just here. It enters
the school and the church. No place is so sacred
as to be safe from its pestilential invasions, and no
more damning proof of the debasing effect of allowing
the animal desires (see last paragraph, page 291) to
rule men can be found.

4

HEALTH.

“ Let all men,” says Carlyle, “if they can manage
it, contrive to be healthy! He who in what cause
soever sinks into pain and disease, let him take
thought of it ; let him know well that it is not good
he has arrived at yet, but surely evil — may, or may
not be, on the way toward good. There are many
other passages in his works which show the high value
he placed upon health, a blessing which he, unfortu¬
nately, did not enjoy. Otherwise, some of the vinegar,
which seems to have offended people so much since
his death, might have been left out of his works and
private papers ; and, what was of far more importance
to him, he might have lived a much happier life, and
contributed more than he probably did to the enjoy¬
ment of those about him.

Truly, health is a grand thing, and its value cannot
be overestimated. (See page 43.) It is the basis
of all good things; as Sir William Temple said, it
“ is the soul that animates all enjoyments of life,
which fade and are tasteless, if not dead, without it.
One of the best foundations you can give your
children, for a life of usefulness and happiness, is a

384

DUTIES TO SELF.

healthy body. Perfect physical health induces mental
and moral health and strength. If you would give
to the world men and women sound in judgment, pure
in thought, with loving hearts, add to culture whole¬
some food, regular habits, plenty of sleep and out-door
exercise. An unimpaired digestion is a fortune to
any child, and is a security for cheerfulness, and
usually a long, happy, and useful life. Therefore, as
you value such a boon for your child, see that in
youth he does not lose it all by indulgence in candy,
pickles, cake and pastry, and sitting up till mamma’s
bedtime.”

If, as has been said so often in these pages, good
bodily health is necessary to the highest development
of the mind and spirit, evidently it must be wrong to
do that which will injure the health of the body. He
who recklessly exposes his system — without sufficient
cause — to disease, he who plies the already weary
body with tasks that it ought not perform, he who
neglects the matters of diet, exercise, pure air, and
other things essential to health, is, then, unwise, and
more than that, he is guilty ; for he is wilfully going
contrary to his highest destiny and duty.

AVARICE.

Although intemperance and licentiousness probably
do more harm than any others, there are many affec¬
tions and desires which, when in excess, become
passions and exercise a very great influence for evil.
A passion of any kind will tear a man to pieces

AVARICE.

335

and make a general wreck of him, if given free sway
for a little time. As one of the greatest thinkers,
Goethe, has truly said, “ Unconditioned activity, of
whatever kind it may be, finally leads to bankruptcy.”
These powerful impulses must be kept in check, and
not allowed to usurp all the faculties of the mind.
A perfect man must be able to maintain an equilib¬
rium between his opposite natures, not allowing any
one of his tendencies to wax unduly and dispropor¬
tionately strong at the expense of others, and finally
to crush them out.

We have already seen in the section on that sub¬
ject (page 298), that the love of gold is one of the
strongest passions, and one of those most likely to
gain complete control over the whole being, bending
all other feelings and powers to its purposes. The
typical miser, with palsied hand, and cowering form,
gloating over the money-bags which he is afraid to
call his own, is perhaps not a common sight. But
every day we meet those whose avarice has gone far
enough to strangle every finer feeling of their natures,
and crush out even the perception of beauty and
grandeur. They are cold, hard, stern, unsympathetic
and unmerciful. To them, no color is beautiful save
the yellow glint of gold, no sound has in it so much
of music as the merry clink and jingle of coin. 1 hey
have no hopes or aspirations other than for more
money. Their only conception of right is the legal
right which is theirs to grind the last cent out of a
sick and starving debtor; of this, their understanding
25

DUTIES TO SELF.

386

is perfect. “ More money, more money ; grant me
power to get more money,” is their only prayer. I
think no reader will find much trouble in deciding
for himself whether such a life is right or wrong,
whether or not it is living- in accordance with that
highest duty which has been pointed out.

Closely connected with avarice is the passion for
gambling, so strong in some people. Rev. C. C.
Colton, author of “ Lacon,” was a pastor in England.
He became addicted to gambling and extravagance.
He was a successful gamester, and is said to have
made at play one hundred and twenty-five thousand
dollars, in two years, in Paris. He finally died by
his own hand. Reni Guido, one of the most dis¬
tinguished Italian painters, died broken in spirit and
burdened with poverty as a result of his passionate
love for the gaming table.

An inordinate love of money is constantly sending
its miserable victims to the insane asylum and to
the lonely grave of the suicide.

AMBITION.

Ambition, or the desire for superiority or power,
(see pages 295 and 300), when in such excess as
to become- a passion, acts in something the same
way as avarice, but is perhaps not quite so ruinous
to the person himself, though more so to others.
Its effect is to harden the heart and shut its doors
against all gentler feelings. It makes its victim heed¬
less of the happiness of others. He does not hesi-

AMBITION.

387

tate to crush anyone who stands in his way whenever
he can do so. He governs his actions by the prin¬
ciple that the end justifies the means ; and what foul
means he will use to accomplish the end of personal
advancement for himself, every one knows who is at
all acquainted with the methods of politicians in this
or any other country. Slander, libel, bribery, false

•v

promises and simulated friendship — these are a part
and a fair sample of the regular stock in trade of
too many men engaged in political life. It is so to
some extent in the other fields of ambition, though
I believe it is nowhere else carried to such an excess
as in politics. Such a life of hard-hearted selfish¬
ness certainly cannot be a fitting one for man, with
his natural sympathy and love for his fellows.

Moreover, disappointed ambition, and in the nature
of things the ambition of most men must be disap¬
pointed, is perhaps the most effective means known for
souring men’s tempers and making them disagreeable
and hateful to themselves and others. We have all
met such people and have been afflicted by them.
They have failed, perhaps, to receive some office upon
which they had fixed their minds, and which they
thought justly due them, on account of their faithful
party service, or for some other reason ; and now they
are querrulous and fault-finding, complaining of their
party, of their friends, and of almost everybody and
everything else. They seem to have forgotten their
high dignity as men, and to have given themselves up
absolutely to the weak, foolish spite they feel against

388 DUTIES TO SELF.

the world on account of their failure. Some distin¬
guished men are supposed to have died from the effects
of their bitter disappointment when defeated in some
of their ambitious schemes. Such is the power ambi¬
tion wields when it once gets full control of the mind.
The only right thing we can do is to keep it in proper
subjection to the reason and the moral faculties.

ANGER.

“To be angry, is to revenge the fault of others upon
ourselves,” says Pope. I suppose there is no other
passion which can do so much harm in so little time,
as anger in its various forms. It seems to wrench the
body and the mind quite out of their original and
proper shape. The face is twisted and distorted, the
brow is drawn into great furrows and ridges, the eyes
gleam with an unnatural light. Plutarch thinks that if
a man could see himself “so unnaturally disguised and
disordered,” it would go a great way toward dispelling
his anger ; and he himself would not at all take it ill
if, when in that condition, some friend should hold up
before him a glass that he might see the horrible
distortion of his face.

But the deformity which we see in the face, great
as it is, is only a faint reflection of what is going on
within.

“The wildest ills that darken life,

Are rapture to the bosom’s strife;

The tempest in its blackest form
Is beauty to the bosom’s storm;

ANGER.

389

The ocean lashed to fury loud,

Its high wave mingling with the cloud,

Is peaceful, sweet serenity,

To anger’s dark and stormy sea.”

So terrible is the strain which anger puts upon
the mind, that it is probable that a person could not
live more than a very few hours if kept constantly
wrought up to the highest pitch of anger; or if his

life did not fall a sacrifice to passion, his reason cer-

- \

tainly would, and he would be driven into permanent
madness. It is extremely fortunate for mankind that
anger in its worst form is very short-lived, never lasting
longer than a few minutes ; after a short time, it either
dies out, or settles into the quieter form of hate, which
is a lasting passion, but not nearly so wearing upon
the whole nervous system as anger.

JEALOUSY.

“Thou jealousy,

Almighty tyrant of the human mind,

Who canst at will unsettle the calm brain,

O’erturn the scaled heart, and shake the man
Through all his frame with tempest and distraction.”

In its effects upon the person unfortunate enough
to be subject to its afflictions, jealousy is very like
anger. It is as if a tornado had passed through
the soul, and with its terrible power had wrecked,
and twisted, and blown to fragments all the facul¬
ties of the man. (For the natural origin of jealousy,
see page 287.) Who that has ever read or heard
Shakespeare’s wonderful play, “ Othello,” can fail to

390

DUTIES TO SELF.

realize how fearful is the power of jealousy ! A
strong, brave man, duped and maddened by his
blind passion, until with his own hand he plunges
his sword into the bosom of his innocent wife. And
scarcely a day passes that the papers do not contain
an account of just such a tragedy enacted in real life.

And here let it be once again repeated that the
man or woman who wishes to reach a full manhood
or womanhood must, and can, keep all these passions
in check ; make them subject to those higher facul¬
ties whose proper sphere it is to rule and guide our
lives. When kept in the state of dependence which
belongs to them, they are useful, and as essential
as any other elements to the completeness of man¬
hood or womanhood. But when allowed to run wild,
they are like the great fires that sometimes rage
through our northern forests, burning farm houses
and villages, as well as the uninhabited wilderness;
fierce and uncontrollable, they rush along, sweeping
everything in their mad course, burning up not only
the trash in our natures, but fastening their alb
devouring flames also upon the noblest powers that
we have ; and when they have gone by, we find
that nothing but ashes and cinders are left of the
life that once was strong and fair.

o

INDEPENDENCE AND SERVILITY.

The spiritual in humanity is degraded whenever
it submits to have ends imposed upon it, and yields
itself blindly to the dictates of another. Self-posses-

INDEPENDENCE AND SERVILITY. 39 1

sion and self-direction are essential to virtue ; and
the obligation to take upon himself the control of his
own conduct, and sustain his own spiritual worthiness,
is inseparable from man. No one can rightfully give
up this responsibility to another, and no one can right¬
fully assume it for another. The true dignity of man’s
spiritual being can be sustained in no other manner
than by proposing to himself his own ends, and resist¬
ing to the last extremity all interference with this
inalienable prerogative. There can be no question
allowed as to whether he may not live longer, or avoid
more care, by allowing his spirit to be ruled by some
other agency than himself ; the assent to such dictation
is a renunciation of the prerogatives of personality,
and consenting to become a thing, and thereby an
attempt to give up the authority of his own rationality,
than which nothing can be more debasing. It is man
renouncing his manhood, and willingly taking the
place of the animal, to be used by others.

Independence is all that makes one a moral and
responsible being, it is what makes him a man ; and
when he consents to yield up his independence, and
subject himself to the will of another, he is sacrificing
his manhood, putting himself upon the same level with
horses and dogs, making out of himself, as has just
been said in the last paragraph above, a mere thing.
And yet how many are doing this very thing in one
form or another! How many make themselves slaves
to the man of position and power, to public opinion,
and to fashion !

392

DUTIES TO SELF.

Of course this does not apply to the payment of
honest debts, as where one man for a certain consider¬
ation aerees to do certain things for another, and do
them in such way as may be desired ; nor does it apply
to the case of obedience to rightful authority ; the
pupil should obey his teacher, just so far as the teach¬
er’s rightful and reasonable authority extends, and
should do it cheerfully and willingly ; the child should
obey his parents in the same way, and so likewise
should we all submit to the lawfully constituted gov¬
ernment which has dominion over us. Obedience in
these and like cases is no sacrifice of independence ;
it is not debasing, but dignifying.

Servility by its derivation means slavishness, and
is the extreme opposite of independence. It includes
all absolute giving up of self into the hands of another
to do as he pleases with, it includes all cases of fawn¬
ing or flattery, and it includes a good many other
things which the people do without thinking of any
sacrifice of independence. Thousands upon thousands
of young men join one or the other of the great polit¬
ical parties, having but very little knowledge of the
principles upon which these parties divide, and for¬
ever after that they are Democrats or Republicans,
as the case may be, and their great pride is that
they never “scratch a ticket,” but always vote as the
“ wire-pullers ” of their party dictate. Ignorant and
servile, no matter how evil and ruinous the principle
advocated may be, no matter how degraded, dis¬
honest and incompetent the candidates, they will

INDEPENDENCE AND SERVILITY. 393

vote for them merely because the ticket contain¬
ing their names is headed “ Democratic Ticket,” or
“ Republican Ticket.” Now, in all matters of politics
these people are mere slaves to the candidates and
candidate-makers, and they are counted in political
calculations just as so many horses or cattle would
be in financial calculations. “ These men are ours,”
say the “bosses.”

In similar manner, only it is worse, because it is
giving into the hands of others the fate of the
immortal soul — little children, who not only do not,
but in the nature of things cannot, understand those
deep and complex questions which underlie all religion,
or even the simpler and far less important questions
which divide religious sects, rush into some church
under the influence of revival excitement, or the
persuasion of parents or companions, and through
life they are Methodists, or Catholics, or Presbyterians,
or Baptists, or whatever else the denomination may
be. They have stifled their natural right of inquiry
and investigation, and most of them go through life
and down to death obeying the behests of their church
organization, and trusting their souls to doctrines
concerning the truth of which they have never once
taken the trouble to satisfy their minds. Is that
anything but servility in its most dangerous form ?
To let others do all their thinking upon this most
important subject of all ! Another exhibition of this
spirit of servility is to be seen in the strict adherence
to fashion on the part of untold thousands of men

394

DUTIES TO SELF.

and women. Does it accord with the high dignity of
true womanhood, that a woman should go beyond her
means for the sake of wearing clothes that are in
fashion, that she should sacrifice her health to the
desire of possessing a fashionable form, that she should
wear things unbecoming to her particular style of
beauty — and frequently things that do not beseem
any woman — that she should give up to the demands
of dress the time that ought to be spent in cultivating
her own higher nature, and in caring for her husband
and children, and promoting her own and their happi¬
ness? Is that true womanhood ? Is it consistent with
true womanhood? Is it anything else but slavery
to the makers 'of apparel and the contrivers of
fashion-papers, and to the opinion of those who, like
herself, are slaves? But dress is by no means the
only thing that is subject to the whims of capricious
fashion. Would that it were!

A mother was reproaching her daughter for not
having called upon an acquaintance ; the reply was
that they had never been intimate with the family
in question. “But,” said the mother, “circumstances
have altered. They have moved into the West End,
and besides that, they keep a carriage and horses
now.” Yes; that is it. They may have been the
most ignorant and uncouth family in the city ; their
lives may have been stained with vice of every kind ;
the money necessary to support a household in the
West End may have been obtained through the
most shameful dishonesty ; but all these things are

INDEPENDENCE AND SERVILITY.

395

mere trifles ; they live in a stylish locality and keep
a carriage and horses, and that is their sure, pass¬
port into “ society, ” for the decree of almighty
Fashion has gone out to that effect, and all her
devotees must obey. Thus fashion presumes to dic¬
tate the clothes we shall wear, the company we shall
keep, the food we shall eat, the houses we shall live
in, the churches we shall attend, the authors we
shall admire — everything, in fact. Besides these
examples given of bowing abjectly to political or
church dignitaries, and to fashion, there are innu¬
merable species of flunkyism which prevail all over
the world. How many ^cringing, fawning, flattering
nothings crowd around every man of influence and
power! It is baseness, unrelieved by anything that
is good or great, thus to surrender your manhood,
and put yourself upon the level of the dog that
licks the hand of its patron. If there is one man
more contemptible than another, it is the one who
makes himself a slave to others, not because he must,
or because he wishes to help them, but simply because
he has not spirit enough to do otherwise. He is
constantly fawning upon others, loading them down
with the most sickening flattery, striving by all means
to gain their attention. If a great or a prominent
man deigns to notice him, he acts as if he were a
worm, and would deem it an honor if the great man
would step on him. Perhaps, after all, he is not far
wrong-, and it would be an honor for such a worm
as he to be crushed by the foot of a man of sense

396 DUTIES TO SELF.

and spirit. Such conduct seems all the more stange,
because it must always fail to command the respect of
the very persons whose good graces are thus courted.
It is evident that he has not sense enough to under¬
stand this truth, and his weakness and folly become
even a little more pitiful.

VANITY.

Vanity, like other forms of servility, grows out of
an undue desire for the esteem of others (see page
305), and is one of the most common of the modi¬
fied forms of servility. Swift said that a man might
be too proud to be vain. A man who is truly proud

and self-sustained is not, and cannot be, vain. Vanity

• _

is always a mark of servility. The person who is

constantly looking about to see if others do not
think him handsome or clever, is weak, very weak,
and must be constantly fed upon the milk of appro¬
bation to keep life in him. “Vanity is the fruit of
ignorance,” says somebody. “ It thrives most in sub¬
terranean places, never reached by the air of heaven
and the light of the sun.” The vain person is prin¬
cipally desirious of the esteem of others, and his
self-esteem is so largely developed that the most
extravagant professions of admiration for him are
not doubted for an instant. He and the flatterer
are well mated. To every one else, flattery is dis¬
gusting; to him it is meat and drink. He does not
perceive any difference between real admiration and
sham admiration ; he measures the depth of feeling

VANITY.

39 7

wholly by the sound of the words which give it
expression, thinking that the same words mean always
the same thing, whereas they mean now one thing,
now another, and again nothing. Hence it is that
the preposterous words of a wily, unfeeling flatterer
are as good to him, nay, better, than the sincere
encouragement of an honest friend. Hence it is,
also, that he can always be led about, and induced
to do whatever may be desired of him, by offering
him the bait of a little false esteem. It might well
be debated in some village lyceum whether the vain
man is rather the subject of pity, or of contempt.
Certain it is, that vanity often destroys prospects
which might otherwise be brilliant. The tendency
of the man afflicted with vanity is, after receiving a.
little applause, to think that he has done as much
as could be expected of any one man, and that he
has earned the everlasting gratitude of the world,
and garnered for himself undying renown ; and
thereupon “he sits down,” as a young preacher
once rather oddly expressed it in a sermon on idle¬
ness, “on the stool of do-nothing,” and there he sits
henceforth and forever.

F^LSE HONOR.

False honor is another manifestation of servility.
The man who worries himself about what people are
saying, and wants blood every time he thinks he has
been insulted, is making himself a slave to public
opinion. The man who looks to his own mind for

398 DUTIES TO SELF.

a guide as to his actions, is not slow in coming to
the conclusion that it is far more harmful and dis¬
honorable to him to fly into a passion of anger over
some petty insult, than to simply pass the matter
by and pay no attention to it. It is only he who
gauges his actions by what people will say, that
thinks blood the only atonement for a disrespectful
word. “True honor will be found,” writes one, “in
that course which secures his highest spiritual worthi¬
ness. But when a man turns off the eye from his
rational spirit, and looks out upon popular opinion
and public estimation, and deems that to be honor
which gives him reputation among the multitude, he
has come to an estimate of personal dignity most
false and really degrading. His honor is not worthi¬
ness, but popular repute ; his standard is not inward
excellence, but human opinion ; and instead of ruling
his own spirit, the conventional maxims and factitious
customs of the society where he may happen to dwell
will rule him.”

HYPOCRISY.

Still another very large class of serviles consists
of those who try to appear something which they are
not. The man of true independence is willing to seem
to be exactly what he is. The one who is always
devising some way to appear richer, or higher born,
or better educated than he is, or the one who tries to
make you think he is a member of a social circle to
which he does not belong, — all such are slaves, and

HYPOCRISY.

399

slaves held in the most unrelenting and degrading
servitude. What man is more ridiculous than the one
who is always telling you about the prominent people
with whom he is intimately acquainted ? When you
question him closely, you find that he has never seen
most of them except in public places, perhaps some
of them not even there. The hypocrisy of those who
are not rich, but would seem to be so, must surely be
a most painful burden to carry. What an amount of
toil it involves ! What a sacrifice of comforts for
the sake of luxuries to put upon the outside for people
to look at ! What a dearth of thought, and reading,
and music, and all things that go to make life noble
and high ; and all for the sole purpose of having the
appearance of that which, when real, gives little com¬
fort to most of its possessors. Was ever thing more
unwise, or further from the true end of life ? What a
sad perversion of that noble element in our natures
(see page 305), the desire for the esteem of others.

There is another kind of hypocrites,, not yet men¬
tioned, who are so not out of servility to the opin¬
ions of others so much as from desire for wealth, office,
or social influence. They would care little for public
opinion if it were not the road to something else they
are trying to reach. These are the religious hypo¬
crites, men who put on the sheeps clothing of piety,
while inwardly they are ravening wolves. They are
worse than contemptible, they are villainous. By their
long prayers in public places, by their solemn looks'
and pious tones, and by their active participation in

400

DUTIES TO SELF.

church and Sunday school affairs, they deceive people
and win their confidence, and then they mercilessly
fleece them, robbing the rich and poor alike of their
capital, their hard-earned savings, or their honor.

“Their friendship is a lurking snare,

Their honor but an idle breath,

Their smile the smile that traitors wear,

Their love is hate, their life is death.”

now come to the second class of
duties which a man owes to him¬
self : those involved in the gen¬
eral idea of Self Culture. It is
not a sufficient fulfillment of our
IQT personal duties that we control ourselves
from all that will induce harm ; we are morally
bound to advance to as high a degree of
perfection as is attainable, and improve our¬
selves in all things as we have opportunity.
This perpetual and complete self-culture of
every bodily and mental faculty is due in the
right of our own spiritual being, and it is unworthy
of any man to neglect any portion of his person
which admits of improvement. We have started

upon the hypothesis that a man’s duty is continually
to improve himself, and to approach as nearly as
possible to absolute perfection. Let us now enlarge
somewhat upon that idea, and endeavor to find out
just what it means, and just how much it contains.
The thought is one of great scope; its range is, in
fact, unbounded. It includes everything which goes

402

SELF-CULTURE.

to make up perfection of manhood, and perfection is
infinite. All that is right or wrong in human nature,
all that is beautiful or repulsive, strong or weak, noble
or base, enters into the question of perfection. I men¬
tion these qualities separately, because ordinarily they
are separate in meaning ; but so far as concerns human
character, any one of them includes all the others.
The perfection includes all the elements of strength,
beauty, and nobility. The man who is absolutely and
perfectly strong is beautiful and noble in his strength.
He can have no weaknesses, and as wrong is always
weak, he must be always pure. It only remains, then,
to determine what qualities must be present, and what
absent, to constitute the perfection of right, strength,
beauty, and nobility, in this our high ideal ; and cer¬
tainly, this is no light task. As has been said before,
we shall have need of all those tests of conscience, self-
respect, happiness, etc., which have been regarded by
various philosophers as final rules of right.

The culture of self naturally divides into two
branches, that of the body, or physical culture, and
that of the mind.

r Of the Body.

Self-Culture. «

v Of the Mind.

<

v

Common Sense.

Knowledge.

Taste.

The Sensibilities.
The Will.
Preseverance.
Heroism.

PHYSICAL CULTURE.

403

Physical Culture.

• \

The culture of the body was spoken of (page 44),
and of that little more need be said. Only let me
once more urge the necessity of properly caring for
and training this wonderful piece of mechanism. The
methods belong to the science of hygiene, and come
principally under the headings of exercise, diet, air,
cleanliness, and dress. The perfect man must be
perfect in every respect ; the body has therefore a
claim upon our attention on its own account. More
than that, the body is the medium through which
the mind acts, and unless it be strong and healthy,
the mind cannot work to good advantage. The best
of mechanics must have good tools in order to give
effect to their skill. I do not mean that every man
should get his body into such a condition as would

1

be necessary to the prize-fighter, or the acrobat, but
he should bring it up to such a degree of strength as
will enable it to perform readily any reasonable task
which may be imposed upon it.

Moreover, the body should be made as comely and
beautiful as possible, and it should be neatly clothed, —
handsomely, if so may be. It is but folly to affect
ragged, ill-fitting, coarse, and filthy garments. If fine
clothes cannot be afforded, wear plain ones, by all
means. But let them be clean, neat, and whole ;
that does not involve any expenditure of money,
and it makes far more difference in the appearance

404 SELF-CULTURE.

than the texture of the cloth can. This much the
body deserves ; only have a care not to neglect that
which is higher and of more importance, for its sake.

Cultivation of the JIind.

Somebody has said that there is nothing great in
the world but man, and that in man there is nothing
great but mind. If that be true, it necessarily follows
that there can be no other subject so worthy of engag¬
ing our attention as the cultivation of the mind. It
is the one all-important thing, paramount to every¬
thing else ; for, in the words of Seneca, “ as the soil,
however rich it may be, cannot be productive without
culture, so the mind without cultivation can never
produce much good fruit.”

The mind is susceptible of greater and more con¬
stant improvement and expansion than the body. It is
somewhat later in coming to full maturity, but it
retains its vigor long after the body has withered
and grown weak. There must probably be some limit
to the power of the mind, but it is not easy to say
where it is. It stretches off toward infinity, far pass¬
ing the range of sight. Each generation is crowned
with mental achievements which lift it higher than
the generations before it. With every age the num¬
ber of known facts and principles gets larger, and
mind always proves itself equal to the demands made
upon it, and uses these for the discovery of others.

CULTIVATION OF THE MIND. 405

Whether mind itself is growing stronger with the
lapse of time may fairly be doubted, but its practical
applications are becoming more numerous and com¬
prehensive every day. Moreover, whatever may be
thought concerning the question of race-improvement,
it cannot be doubted that individuals may increase
their mental power to an indefinite extent. That
keen Frenchman, La Rochefoucauld, was of the opin¬
ion that, owing to our natural indolence, “no one has
ever yet taken the pains to enlarge and expand his
mind to the full extent of its capacities.” If Socrates,
and Bacon, and Shakespeare did not reach the full
limit of their intellectual power, what may we not
hope for?

Nearly everything of importance that has ever been
accomplished in the world, has been done by persons
of much thought, persons who had cultivated their
mental faculties to a very high degree. Most of them
were men who had received what is called a liberal
education. It is said that a very large proportion of
the discoveries of science were the results of fortunate
accidents and lucky guesses. That is true : but it is
also true, that for some mysterious reason nearly all
these happy accidents and guesses have occurred to
men of the class described. Here again is confirma¬
tion of the idea that we should strive to attain the
highest possible degree of culture, as thus we are
not only discharging our highest duty to ourselves,
but also putting ourselves into the best shape to dis¬
charge that which we owe to the world.

406

SELF-CULTURE.

COMMON SENSE.

“Fine sense and exalted sense,” says Addison, “are
not half so useful as common sense ; there are forty
men of wit for one man of good sense ; and he that
will carry nothing about him but gold, will be every
day at a loss for readier change.” This faculty, or
whatever it may be considered, called common sense,
is one of the qualities most essential to full intellectual
power. It is the intellect of every-day life, the soul
of business, society, and home affairs. It is the frame¬
work and walls of the intellectual house ; wit and brill¬
iancy are the trimmings, the adornments, and should
be considered as of only secondary importance. But
as we often see beautifully ornamented houses whose
walls are mere shells, so we frequently meet persons
whose conversation sparkles with bright, witty sayings,
but whose life seems either to go along just as it
* happens, or to be led about hither and thither by
the wildest vagaries that an uncontrolled fancy could
conceive.

Common sense is opposed to all such things as
carelessness, stupidity, rashness, credulity, and skep¬
ticism. The person with an abundant endowment
of good common sense will see whatever is going on
around him, will rapidly accustom himself to his envi¬
ronments, and become at home among them. When
he is brought into contact with any unfamiliar set of
circumstances, he will carefully observe them, and will
not fail to draw correct conclusions from them. The

COMMON SENSE.

407

stupid dolt, who passes through the world with his
mouth open and his eyes shut, seeing nothing, hear¬
ing nothing, comprehending nothing ; the careless
man, who pays no attention — no real, thoughtful
attention, at least — to his surroundings, and to the
signs and portents of the future, upon whom a dis¬
astrous business crash might come all unlooked for,
though heralded for months by the plainest symptoms,
and expected and guarded against by all his neighbors ;
the rash man, who needlessly rushes into plainly indi¬
cated danger, not noticing it, or, if he does notice it,
not caring for it, so deeply wrapped up is he in some
pet scheme. All these are lamentably deficient in that
homely, but inestimably valuable, quality of common
sense.

When common sense rises to its highest stage, it
becomes a genius of itself.

“Good sense, which only is the gift of heaven,

And though no science, fairly worth the seven.”

It is wonderful how much it sometimes accomplishes,
even without the help of favoring external circum¬
stances. Some of the finest achievements of civil and
military history, when sifted down, seem to have been
the result of nothing else than a healthy, active com¬
mon sense.

The man of good common sense is not the one
who believes everything that is told him, simply
because somebody said so. He is not the one who is
being constantly duped by men who go about the

408

SELF-CULTURE.

country selling all sorts of humbugs ; not the one who

i

can be wronged time and again, and always be put off
by some ridiculous story of repentance or accident.
Cotton says, somewhere in his varied essays, that
we ought always to forgive an injury, but never to
forget it. We owe it to the offender that we should
forgive him, and we owe it to ourselves that we should

remember his offense, to the end that he may have

/ •

no opportunity of repeating it. The man of sound
sense obeys this maxim, particularly the last part — the
first part belongs to the sphere of morals ; the same
person is not likely to have the chance of injuring
him twice, unless it be in some way that it was out
of his power to control.

On the other hand, he is not one who believes
only things which he has seen and can fully under¬
stand. He recognizes the fact that his intellect does
not reach out on all sides to the uttermost boundaries
of intelligence. A certain degree of doubt and skepti¬
cism is, of course, necessary in every sound intellect,
but the extreme of it is highly injurious and is incom¬
patible with healthy mental life. The confirmed
skeptic and the over-credulous believer are equally
lacking in this first requisite to intellectual strength,
common sense.

The man of common sense, again, is not the one
who hastily embarks all that he has in some unconsid¬
ered speculation. He is not the one who lets go all
hold upon the good thing that he has, in the blind
hope that he may get something better. He dismisses

COMMON SENSE.

409

the good thing only when he is sure of the better one.
He is not the man who takes any careless risks. He
does not plunge headlong into anything, but always
acts with deliberation and caution, and keeps on the
safe side of everything so far as he can. Such are the
men who form the strength of any country ; it is to
them that it must look in time of trouble ; it is they
who have the solid substance from which alone it can
draw the support it needs. They are often rich and
seldom poor. Almost all of the men who have amassed
great wealth by business, have been of this sensible,
cautious temperament. If common sense, then, is so
vital a part of every healthy mind, how necessary is its
earnest cultivation to every one who would bring out
all the power that is in him ! No one ougnt to neglect
this most important part of his nature for the sake
of cultivating in himself those more showy but less
valuable faculties which secure the admiration of the
world for a season, but when asked for bread can give
nothing but a stone.

KNOWLEDGE.

“ That jewel, Knowledge, is great riches, riches
which is not plundered by kinsmen, not carried off by
thieves, not decreased by giving,” says the Hindu
Bhavabhuti, who lived about eleven hundred years
ago. And the old Indian philosopher spoke truly.
There is no jewel so precious as knowledge ; no pos¬
session so safe ; it does not fluctuate in value ; it is not
subject to loss by fire, water, or thieves ; it cannot be

4io

SELF-CULTURE.

taken away by the sheriff. The more you give of it,,
the more you have ; win it and it is yours forever.

Without knowledge, the brightest intellect is as the
uncut diamond ; its beauty is not half brought out.
With knowledge, the most stubborn and unpromising
mind is like the granite column ; originally anything
but fair, its polish has made it a thing of great beauty.

When God asked Solomon what he should give
him, Solomon chose, out of the whole universe of
things, — knowledge and wisdom. And because he
chose knowledge and wisdom, instead of riches, or
honor, or lives of his enemies, or long life for himself,
God gave him wisdom and knowledge, and also riches
and honor more than any king before him ever had.
And he does the same thing now ; the man who pos¬
sesses wisdom and knowledge, has a valid claim upon
riches and honor, and if he wants them, he can get
them sooner than another. But the scholar does not
often engage in the pursuit of wealth or position. He
has something better. While they would be very
desirable possessions, the time that it would cost to
get them can be spent for something else whose power
of producing happiness is greater. What pursuit can
be so delightful as that of knowledge? Intellect uncul¬
tivated has but few pleasures, and those are low and
gross. But the pleasures of cultivated intellect are
found among the most refined and noble as well as
the most ecstatic that enter into and form a part of
human happiness. To the man of truly cultivated
power of thought, there are a thousand voices that

i

KNOWLEDGE.

411

speak the rich language of instruction and wisdom, to
which the uncultivated ear is totally deaf. He pos¬
sesses not only all the common enjoyments of life,
home, friends, the bounties and beauties of munificent
nature, in a degree greatly elevated by his cultivation,
but he holds within his hands the keys that unlock
the grandest treasures of the universe, and give him
permission to walk the heights of glory where the
angels tread. To him the sun pours down his glory-
wreathed beams of warmth and life, laden with the
rich instructions which science teaches of that glorious
illuminator and governor of the solar system. Every
ray is a dispatch from that gorgeous world of light,
speaking of its opaque body, its vast magnitude, its
luminous atmosphere, its revolutions on its own axis,
its mighty attractive powers, its distance from us, the
mysterious and almost godlike influence which it exerts
upon our earth, the life and beauty it infuses into all
things here, and all the rich and varied instruction
gleaned by the penetrating mind of man from this
source of light. The stars bring to him intelligence
from the regions they inhabit, and each constellation
affords him historic information of those who have
gazed upon its stellar beauty in centuries gone by.
The comets come to him on rapid wings of light, with
their banners streaming back, telling by their incon¬
ceivable velocities, of the measureless depths they have
penetrated in the immensity of the Creator’s realm.
The moon pours down its floods of light, freighted
with its burden of knowledge. The clouds come over

412

SELF-CULTURE.

him but to tell him the story of their vapor-wreaths and
the mission they have to perform. The lightnings
flash but to give him instructive joy. The thunders
rattle but to make him music. The winds roar but
to whistle in his ears the story of their lives and labors.
The earthquake moans but to send a voice of instruc¬
tion from below, and the volcano flashes up its flames,
a great torchlight, to read the earth’s ancient history
by. Old ocean pronounces in his ears its solemn ser¬
mon of grandeur, and the plains and mountains send
back their instructive responses. The little flower
beneath his feet opens its roseate volume to his admir¬
ing gaze ; the blade of grass translates its mystical
language for his pleasure, and the delicate leaf breathes
about him its silent words of wisdom. He finds
instruction in the cattle upon the thousand hills, in
the birds above him, and the fishes below him. He
finds books in running brooks, sermons in stones, and
a voice in everything bidding him to a great feast of
intellectual pleasure.

A good library is a “holy of holies” to the scholar,
and it may be entered at any time. One of the
good things that Goethe puts into the mouth of the
generally contemptible Wagner is this:

“ How the mental raptures bear us
From page to page, from book to book !

Then winter nights take loveliness untold,

As warmer life in every limb had crowned you ;

And when your hands unroll some parchment rare and old,
All Heaven descends, and opens bright around you.”

KNOWLEDGE. 413

In the works of nearly every author may be found
a tribute to books and study :

“ Prefer knowledge to wealth : for one is transitory,
the other perpetual.”

‘'A taste for books,” writes another, “ is the pleasure
and glory of my life. I would not exchange it for the
glory of the Indies.”

“If the crowns of all the kingdoms of the empire
were laid down at my feet in exchange for my books
and my love of reading, I would spurn them all.”

“ I no sooner come into my library but I bolt the
door to me, excluding lust, ambition, avarice, and all
such vices, whose nurse is idleness, the mother of
ignorance and melancholy. In the very lap of eternity,
among so many divine souls, I take my seat with so
lofty a spirit and sweet content, that I pity all that
know not this happiness.”

“ Give a man this taste (for good books), and the
means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of
making a happy man. You place him in contact with
the best society in every period of history — with the
wisest, the wittiest, the tenderest, the bravest, and the
purest characters who have adorned humanity. You
make him a denizen of all natures, a contemporary of
all ages.”

“ A book is good company. It is full of conversa¬
tion without loquacity. It comes to your longing with
full instruction, but pursues you never. It is not
offended at your absent-mindedness, nor jealous if
you turn to other pleasures.”

SELF-CULTURE.

4H.

“ Who can overestimate the value of good books ?
Those ships of thought, as Bacon so finely calls them,
voyaging through the sea of time, and carrying their
precious freight so safely from generation to genera¬
tion. Here are the finest minds giving us the best
wisdom of present and all past ages ; here are intellects
gifted far beyond ours, ready to give us the results
of lifetimes of patient thought, imaginations open to
the beauty of the universe far beyond what it is given
us to behold ; characters whom we can only vainly
hope to imitate, but whom it is one of the highest
privileges of life to know. Here they all are; and to
learn to know them is the privilege of the reading
man.”

“ I have friends whose society is extremely agree¬
able to me ; they are of all ages and of every country.
They have distinguished themselves both in the
cabinet and in the field, and obtained high honors for
their knowledge of the sciences. It is easy to gain
access to them, for they are always at my service, and
I admit them to my company, and dismiss them from
it whenever I please. They are never troublesome,
but immediately answer every question I ask them.
Some relate to me the events of the past ages, while
others reveal to me the secrets of nature. Some teach
me how to live, and others how to die. Some, by
their vivacity, drive away my cares and exhilarate my
spirits, while others give fortitude to my mind, and
teach me the important lesson how to restrain my
desires, and to depend wholly on myself. They open

V.

KNOWLEDGE.

415

to me, in short, the various avenues of all the arts and
sciences, and upon their information I safely rely in
all emergencies.”

“In the best books, great men talk to us, with us,
and give us their most precious thoughts. Books
are the voices of the distant and the dead ; books
are the true levelers. They give to all who will
faithfully use them the society -and the presence of
the greatest of our race. No matter how poor I
am ; no matter though the prosperous of my own
time will not enter my obscure dwelling, learned men
and poets will enter and take up their abode under
my roof.”

One of the best, as it is one of the most celebrated,
of these tributes, is from the pen of Robert Southey,
who was once poet laureate of England, and whose
stores of books were, as he says, “ more ample, per¬
haps, than were ever before possessed by one whose
whole estate was in his inkstand.” He had about
twenty-five thousand volumes. He says :

“ My days among the dead are passed ;
Around me I behold,

Where’er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old ;

My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

“With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe ;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedew’d
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.”

41 6 SELF-CULTURE.

“A taste for reading will always carry you into the
best possible company, and enable you to converse
with men who will instruct you by their wisdom,
and charm you with their wit ; who will soothe
you when fretted, refresh you when weary, counsel
you when perplexed, and sympathize with you at
all times,” says George S. Hillard. This being
the case, then, and no thinking reader will question
it, is it not a manifestation of wisdom to cultivate
a taste for good reading? that which will make us
better, happier, stronger? But, alas, how sadly it is
neglected! How many young ladies and gentlemen
grow up into womanhood and manhood without ever
opening a volume and tasting the purifying nectar
enclosed within its lids. How many seek for strength
in mathematical solutions, for mental drill in conju¬
gating the dead words of languages buried when their
time came to die, yet are wholly ignorant of the
beauties that are treasured in their libraries. Here
is food for mental drill. Here is food for mental
strength. The wise Socrates said, “ Employ your time
by improving yourself by other men’s documents ;
so shall you come easily by what others have labored

so hard for. Prefer knowledge to wealth ; for the

%

one is transitory, the other is perpetual.” A few
dollars judiciously expended will place within your
reach the wisdom of a lifetime. Our mental growth
is measured by what we read, understand, and apply ;

m

our physical by what we eat, digest, and assimilate.
Full minds make full lives — lives of usefulness; empty

KNOWLEDGE.

417

minds make empty lives — lives of idleness. Every
act is a result of mental stimulus, an outgrowth of
thought. As the thoughts are, so are the actions.
Pure minds lead pure lives in channels of purity.
Impure minds lead impure lives in channels of im-
purity. The mind must act. The wheels of thought
must turn. To stop them is to stop the beating
of the heart. It must have food.1 “What kind must
we give it? Spoiled bacon, dry bread, spoiled butter?
These weaken and sicken. Give it the best. It costs
no more.”

That old person is fortunate who, in youth, when
his powers were yet vigorous, stocked his mind with
the grand thoughts and deeds of all ages. He has
something to fall back upon after all else fails. His
eyes are dim, and his limbs tremble ; active life is
no longer possible for him ; but he has a treasure-
house within, upon which he can draw for the cur¬
rency of happiness. His imagination carries him to
Venice, and he is in the court where Portia pleads in
heavenly tones —

“The quality of mercy is not strained,

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath.”

Or he dwells among the Athenians, and watches with
eager interest the contests of cestus and chariot, and
the loftier contests wherein ^Eschylus and Sophocles,
those kings of tragedy, strove for the mastery. Or
he wanders out with Faust, and breathes the delicious

27

418

SELF-CULTURE.

air of Easter morning. Or he laughs again, and for
the hundredth time, at the misanthropy of Alceste, the
stinginess of H'arpagon, and the ridiculous aspirations
of M. Jourdain.

The man of much knowledge is shielded against
temptation to crime. It is not often that the genuine
scholar, the one who loves learning for its own sake,
is hung or locked up in prison. His mind, by dwell¬
ing among pure and lofty thoughts continually, is itself
filled with nobility, and lifted above crime and its
temptations.

“ Knowledge is that which, next to virtue, truly
and essentially raises one man above another,” says
Addison. Most other distinctions are external and
largely accidental. Wealth often comes by accident;
exalted station by right of birth is always an accidental
possession, and is as likely to fall to the lot of an idiot
as to that of anyone else. Such possessions add noth¬
ing to the real, native dignity and inward worthiness
of a man ; neither do they afford any evidence that
his mental powers are even respectable. Knowledge
and culture, on the other hand, are never accidents.
They are always the result of high aspirations and
hard work on the part of the possessor of them. They
are proof of a mind unusually strong and pure. More¬
over they add to the power of the mind, and make
it continually more worthy of respect.

The cultivated intellect is a source of never-fail¬
ing pleasure to its friends and companions. It is a
mine of wealth sparkling with instruction. It has

KNOWLEDGE. 419

an attractive force, which draws around itself the
minds of others, and delights them with its companion¬
ship. Its words are rich with the magic power of
thought. It charms the ear with its varied harmony
of rich and glowing language. It ravishes the heart
with its recitals of the poetry of passion and love. It
fires the imagination with the flights of its fancy,
and the gorgeous drapery of its figures. It capti¬
vates the judgment by the justness of its opinions,
the cogency of its reason, and the comprehensiveness
of its views. Who that has ever enjoyed the com¬
panionship of a truly cultivated intellect, but knows
its power to please and instruct the mind, to captivate
and ravish the heart? How full of interest is the
conversation of a truly intelligent man or woman !
How eagerly do we seek the company of such, and
how long do we enjoy it before we tire ! Great are
the charms which the cultivated intellect has for its
companions. Then shall we not cultivate ours?

Aeain, the cultivation of intellect increases our
abilities to do good. Is a nation oppressed with
tyranny? Are unjust laws grinding the face of the
poor? Are existing institutions opposed to the well¬
being of the masses of the people ? Are old errors
blinding the public mind and veiling the soul of
humanity from the light of truth? Is ignorance
palsying human energies and dwarfing human powers ?
Is the whirlpool of intemperance swallowing up its
thousands? Are war and slavery cursing their mill¬
ions? Cultivated intellect must apply the Archime-

420

SELF-CULTURE. '

dean lever of reform to these ruinous evils, or they
can never be removed. Shall we not, then, cultivate
our intellects?

If all this is true, and no one can for a moment
doubt its truth, it is evidently the duty of every human
being to get all the knowledge possible. Willful
ignorance is an outrage against self, and it might
almost be called a crime against society. Says
Carlyle: “It is not because of his toils that I lament
for the poor ; we must all toil, or steal (howsoever
we do our stealing), which is worse ; no faithful
workman finds his task a pastime. The poor is
hungry and athirst ; but for him also there is food
and drink : he is heavy-laden and weary ; but for him
also the heavens send sleep, and of the deepest ; in
his smoky crib, a clear, dewy haven of rest envelopes
him, and fitful glitterings of cloud-skirted dreams.
But what I do mourn over is, that the lamp of his
soul should go out ; that no ray of heavenly, or even
of earthly knowledge, should visit him ; but only, in
the haggard darkness, like two specters, Fear and
Indignation bear him company. Alas, while the body
stands so broad and brawny, must the soul lie blinded,
dwarfed, stupefied, almost annihilated ! Alas, was this
too, a breath of God, bestowed in heaven, but on earth
never to be unfolded ! That there should one man
die ignorant who had capacity for knowledge, this I
call a tragedy, were it to happen more than twenty
times in a minute, as by some computations it does.
The miserable fraction of science which our united

KNOWLEDGE.

421

mankind, in a wide universe of nescience, has acquired,
why is not this, with all diligence, imparted to all?”
This section began with a quotation from an old
Hindu philosopher; let it close with one from another:
“ Learning is a companion on a journey to a strange
country. Learning is strength inexhaustible. A man
without learning is a beast of the field.”

11

TASTE,

No one can be a complete man or woman without
the power to appreciate beauty ; and the more keenly
one is impressed by the beautiful, and the more taste

one has in arranging things so as to make them beau-

*

tiful, the more complete he is in this particular direc¬
tion. It is quite a common notion that in a man the
love of flowers, or poetry, or music, or pictures is
evidence of some degree of effeminacy. It is nothing
of the kind ; it is only evidence of fine-grained man¬
hood. That a man prefers to have his house sur¬
rounded by a smooth, well-sodded lawn, rather than
by a corn-field or a mud-puddle, is no sign that he is
not a strong, rugged, practical man ; it only signifies
that he is elevated somewhat above the pig in his
ideas of living. I have known men who called flowers
weeds , and would not allow their wives and children
to raise house-plants or have flowers about the yard.
Such men, instead of glorying over their masculinity,
oueht to be ashamed of their coarseness. God filled

o

the universe with beauty, and surely he did not intend
that man, the highest creature in the universe, should

422

SELF-CULTURE.

be incapable of perceiving and enjoying that beauty
which he had made for him. The gorgeous sunset,
the silver brooklet, the delicately perfumed and richly
tinted flower, and the singing bird, were not made for
naught. Had beauty not been made for a purpose,
the grass and the trees might just as well have been a
dull, lifeless, rusty color, instead of having the rich,
velvety, and many-shaded green with which we are
familiar, and which is so charming. The sky and the
ocean might have been of a dirty, muddy hue, as well as
of the two magnificent shades of blue they now show.
Colorless, shapeless and odorless flowers would answer
all the purposes of reproduction as well as those splen¬
did masses of color and perfume that now delight us.
The bray of the donkey, the howl of the cayote, or the
screech of the magpie, would do quite as well as a
means of communication as the song of the canary.
Our own voices might have been made as harsh and
unmusical as the grating of a saw, our own faces as
unattractive as that of the baboon. There was no
necessity in the economy of nature, other than the
desire to please, that there should be any odors more
agreeable than those of the onion or the pig-sty. But
beauty was created, and evidently that we might derive
pleasure from it ; and he is not a full man, nor is she a
complete woman, who does not enjoy it. Every one,
not less the man than the woman, not less the boy than
the girl, should cultivate to the utmost of his power
this faculty of recognizing and loving the beautiful in
all its forms, this taste , which has been defined as a gen-

TASTE.

423

eral susceptibility to truth and nobleness, a sense to
discern, and a heart to love and reverence all beauty,
order, goodness, wheresoever or in whatsoever forms
and accompaniments they are to be seen.

THE SENSIBILITIES.

From that part of our nature known as the Sensi¬
bilities come all the motives that impel men to action.

All the emotions of sympathy, joy or grief; all
the affections of love or hate ; all the myriad forms
of incessant desire, spring from this source. These,
like all other branches of our nature are subject to
improvement, and the influences of training and habit.
Duty demands that we throw ourselves into such
company and such circumstances as will draw out the
nobler emotions, and develop the purer and higher
forms of affection and desire.

Probably the widest and most powerful feeling in
the entire Sensibility is that of sympathy. There
is nothing more lovable and charming than the
disposition which shows itself in a quick and full
sympathy with whatever is good and noble in others,
and a hearty, generous joy in recognizing it. Appre¬
ciation is the bond of peace among neighbors ; the
manifestation of love in families ; and the shining
mark of “the communion of the saints.” Washington
Allston speaks of it, in a very beautiful way, as
proof of devotion to our own chosen work. “ If a
mechanic,” he says, “love his trade for its own sake,
he will delight in excellence wherever he meets it,

424 SELF-CULTURE.

as well in the work of another as in his own. This
is the test of a true artisan.” And this is true of
every calling. Appreciation shows that a man is doing
his own work in the right spirit, and is in the free
current of humanity — not a useless wreck on the
shore. •

It was necessary in the study of the Sensibilities
(beginning page 251), to speak of the relative impor¬
tance of the various elements, and at the close of that
subject, under the head of “Observations” (page 312),
our duty in regard to them becomes very apparent.

THE WILL.

In the chapter on the Will (pages 361-376), we saw
something of the importance of this part of our minds.
We saw that it alone can give effect to the workings
of the Intellect and Sensibility, that it is the executive,
the acting, faculty of the mind, without whose co-opera¬
tion no voluntary act of any kind can be performed.
We saw how pitiful would be the condition of a person
entirely destitute of Will power, and how helpless are
those whose animal passions have been allowed to
grow so strong that the Will can no longer control
them. We saw, too, that almost every great deed ever
accomplished was performed by the expenditure of a
great deal of Will force, and that nearly all the men
whose names have passed beyond the bounds of their
own country, or their own generation, have been men
rich in this most valuable quality of mind. But there
are yet some subjects connected with this theme

THE WILL.

425

which need fuller consideration, namely, perseverance
and heroism.

PERSEVERANCE.

“ Great works are performed not by strength, but
by perseverance,” says Johnson, and often it is even
so ; Lucretius says :

“A falling drop at last will cave a stone.”

Who has not seen deep ravines that were pro¬
duced by thd long-continued wear of very small
streams? Upon the shore of Lake Superior are
great rocks which have been worn into all sorts of
fantastic shapes by the beating of the waves upon
them. Other things are not more hard than rock,
and they can be molded by the same process of
patiently applying a small force to them. “ Let us
only suffer any person to tell us his story morning
and evening, but for one twelve-month, and he will
become our master,” said Burke. Those who are
conversant with the history of legislation know that
precisely this has been the course of every great
reform. It was so with the anti-slavery movement
in both England and the United States; it was so
with the great Parliamentary reform movement which
relieved England of her “rotten boroughs”; it is so
with the wonderful temperance agitation which now
rages so violently all over the United States. First
a few individuals get in earnest about the matter,
and they begin telling their story morning, noon and

426

SELF-CULTURE.

night, to every one who will listen, and before many
twelve-months roll by, behold a great party, boiling
over with enthusiasm, and marching irresistibly on
to the desired end. This is the almost uniform
history of great popular movements.

It will be seen from these facts, and such as these,,
that perseverance is one of the trustiest arrows that
a man can have in his quiver. The statement which
the school boy finds so often repeated in his copy
books that “ Rome was not built in a day,” is so true,
metaphorically as well as literally, that it cannot be too
strongly impressed upon either the child or the adult
mind. Do you desire wealth ? Be patient Remember
the inscription upon Sir Federigo’s chair —

“All things come round to him who will but wait.”

Great fortunes are not commonly won in a day, but
by the slow process of earning and keeping cent after
cent, and dollar after dollar, and so on, in a gradually
increasing ratio.

“From the birth of Christ to December 25, 1815,
one penny, at five per cent simple interest, amounts
to 7s. 3 i-2d. ; at compound interest it would be
.£1,227,742,357,141,817,589,060,967,240,755,491, 9s. pd.,
which, counted in dollars, would, at the present time,
amount to something like $184,000,000,000,000,000,-
000,000,000,000,000,000. Allowing a cubic inch of
gold to be worth £38, 16s. 6d., and the above sum
to be condensed into a globe of gold, its diameter
will be six million one hundred and ninety-three

PERSEVERANCE.

427

\

thousand six hundred and four miles, five hundred
and forty yards, one foot, six inches, and a fraction,
which would exceed in magnitude all the planets in
the solar system ; and supposing this earth to be
solid gold, it would not pay one hour’s interest of
the above sum.” Such is the result of so small a
thing as a penny, working constantly for not quite
two thousand years.

Is position, power, your ambition ? Sill be patient.

“We have not wings, we cannot soar;

But we have feet to scale and clime
By slow degrees, by more and more,

The cloudy summits of our time.

******

The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,

But they, while their companions slept,

Were toiling upward in the night.”

Is it learning you would have? Would you enjoy
the secrets of knowledge? Here, least of all, could
you by any possibility succeed without the aid of
unyielding perseverance. A lucky speculation, or
such an accident as the discovery of oil or gold upon
an almost worthless farm, may make a man rich in
a day; a fortunate — or unfortunate, which? — chain
of circumstances may lift an unworthy man into a
position of the most exalted dignity and power; but
there is no such “short cut” to learning; nothing but
years of patient, persevering, unremitting toil, can ever

(

428

SELF-CULTURE.

make a man a scholar. And if you wish scholarship,
you must make up your mind to travel that road of
labor, rough as it is. There is rich recompense how¬
ever, for all the hardship involved ; it is like climbing
the Alps : the road is steep and rugged, but on
every hand are magnificent views, scenes of almost
heavenly beauty, which he who stays in the valley
below will never see.

Then, whatever your aim, persevere. Bear in mind
the motto of that brave old frontiersman, Colonel Davy
Crocket, “ Be sure you are right, then go ahead.”
Attempt nothing which is not right and just ; but
when that point is decided, and the work has begun,
let nothing stop you. You may be surrounded by
many discouragements, it may seem almost impossible
that you should succeed, the world may seem to be
specially bent on making you fail ; but however great
the obstacles in your pathway may seem, do not yield
to them ; if you cannot preserve a hopeful courage, at
least do not let go your hold upon that grim “ des¬
perate courage” about which Carlyle has so much to
say in the letters written during the first thirty-five
or forty years of his life, and to which we unques¬
tionably owe the splendid work that he did then and
afterward.

Especially is perseverance necessary in all steps
for the improvement of the mind, or the formation
of wise, fair, and just opinions. A sudden glance of
truth without meditation upon it, brings nothing to
perfection. The frequent change of occupations bring

PERSEVERANCE.

429

success in none. There is an old saying, “ The hen
that soon leaves her nest, never hatches her chicks,”
but we never see animals thus foolish. The hen never
loses confidence in her undertaking till she has kept
her eggs faithfully warm for three weeks, at least. It
is seldom, indeed, that persistent efforts in a proper
field, and properly directed, end in anything else than
success.

HEROISM.

Scarcely does there exist a quality of mind or heart
which can do more to compel the admiration of the
world than genuine heroism. In all its varieties, from
the lowest animal fearlessness to the grandest moral
heroism, its exhibition always excites in us some
degree of admiration for the possessor, and even
reverence, where the act is one of high quality : as
was the case, for instance, where a boat caught fire
on Lake Erie a short distance from shore, some
years ago. The boat was crowded with passengers,
every one of whom must perish unless the shore could
be reached in time. The fate of these people depended
solely upon the pilot. If he would stand by his post
to the last, they might be saved ; if not, they must die.
The noble man did stand to his duty, and he held his
wheel firmly, until one foot after the other, and one
arm after the other, became helpless from the flames.
Just as the boat touched shore he dropped dead,
burned to death. Everyone else on board escaped;
he was the only victim of the terrible disaster. But

430

SELF-CULTURE.

how a recital of that man’s deed will stir an audience !
Every man and -woman in a vast hall would almost
fall down and worship him. The name of John May¬
nard will go down in poetry and song to the remotest
generations, a burning protest against the idea that
there is nothing great, nothing noble, in man.

During the plague at Marseilles, when people
were in such dread of the disease that the closest
ties were severed, the physicians of the city held
a consultation. Not understanding the nature of the
pest, they could make no efficient resistance to its
progress. It was decided that the only chance of
saving the city from depopulation was that one of
their number should dissect the body of some person
who had died of the plague, and write down care¬
fully the results of his observations and leave the
papers for his brother physicians. To do this was
certain death, and the question was, Who is noble
enough to sacrifice his own life that others may live ?
For a little time no one spoke; but presently a sur¬
geon named Guyon, rich, happy in his family rela¬
tions, in the prime of life, and of great celebrity in
his profession, bound to earth by every possible tie,
stepped forth amid the admiring but incredulous looks
of his comrades, and offered himself as the sacrifice.
He then left the assembly, made his will and prepared
everything, and early next morning he shut himself
up with a corpse, which he proceeded to dissect,
noting upon paper all that he saw and learned. When
he had finished, he put the papers into a vase of

PERSEVERANCE.

431

vinegar, went to the lazaretto, and died in twelve
hours. “ Greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends.” Here was
a true hero, not despising death and not wishing to
die, yet voluntarily facing it in its most horrible form
that he might thereby save the lives of his fellow-men.

Somebody, speaking of martial heroism, has very
truly remarked that the really brave man is not the
one who is unconscious of danger. Such a man is a
mere brute, fool ; to be surrounded by great dangers,
and not to know it, or rather not to feel what it means,
is surely no quality of a high mind, and ought not to
win much credit and admiration for any man who
possesses such a nature. Stupidity is not bravery.
He is the truly brave man who perceives his danger,
and fully feels the awful weight of responsibility
resting upon him, but who, though his cheek may be
blanched at the peril he is encountering, goes straight ,
ahead in the performance of his duty.

But it is not only in matters of life and death that
there is opportunity for the exercise of heroism. In
fact, it is often much easier to subject ourselves to
great danger, or to place ourselves in positions where
we must undergo great hardship, than to do some
other things which upon the face do not seem nearly
so difficult. When a soldier leaves home for the seat
of war, which do you think is the harder for him to
do — to face unflinchingly the dangers and privations
which Mars demands of his followers, or to leave his
weeping family, to tear himself away from all his

43 ^

SELF-CULTURE.

pleasant associations, to burst the bonds that bind
friends and kindred together ?

When Columbus started on his ever memorable
voyage, it is probable that he sailed away bravely,
hopefully ; he was bent upon a great achievement, he
was surrounded by an applauding host, he was borne
up by the excitement incident to the commencement
of so long and so adventurous a voyage. But can we
imagine how he looked the night before, when he
was bidding farewell to his family and friends? I think
his face could scarcely have been marked with that
gayety and hopefulness which characterized it the next
day. His cheeks were probably wet, his eyes dim, and
his voice husky ; then was when he passed through
the severest struggle of his departure ; then was when
he wished, if ever, that he had not embarked in his
romantic enterprise. There are occasions which call

for active heroism almost daily in our ordinary life.

*

It is heroism for him who is strongly tempted to
do some wrong deed to stand firmly and say “No!”
It is heroism for a man to pursue steadily the course
which his judgment tells him is right, when the world
is clamoring about his heels, trying to coax, buy or
scare him into some other mode of action. It is hero¬
ism for one to make personal sacrifices for the sake
of that which he thinks right, or for the well-being
of others.

Since heroism, moral bravery, adds so much to the
dignity and lovableness of every person who possesses
it, is it not perfectly plain that our duty is to cultivate

FAREWELL OF

© LU M i U

»

PERSEVERANCE.

433

this, admirable quality? When taken in its proper
and highest sense, heroism is greater and rarer hold*
ing than knowledge, or intellectual acumen, or any
other natural or acquired quality of mind. Perhaps
some one may doubt whether heroism can be culti¬
vated. I think that if we reflect upon the subject
for a little while, we shall agree with the great Scotch¬
man whom I have so often had occasion to quote,
that sincerity is the base of all heroism, and sincerity
surely is capable of cultivation. Here is what he has
to say about the matter : “ Hero-worship never dies, nor
can it die. Loyalty and sovereignty are everlasting in
the world : and there is this in them, that they are
grounded not on garnitures and semblances, but on
realities and sincerities. Not by shutting your eyes —
your “private judgment;” no, but by opening them,
and by having something to see ! * * * If hero

mean sincere man , why may not every one of us be
a hero ? A world all sincere, a believing world : the
like has been, the like will again be — cannot help
being. That were the right sort of worshipers for
heroes : never could the truly better be so reverenced
as where all were true and good ! ”

IN THE STRIFE FOR PERFECTION.

Without a will as strong as steel, no energetic
and successful struggle after perfection can be made.
Thousands of difficulties and obstacles are constantly

presenting themselves. There is hard work to be
28

434

SELF-CULTURE.

done ; many an hour must be spent in labor which
those who have no lofty aspirations may pass in sleep
or play; the “midnight oil ” must often be burned;
many sacrifices of material interest must be made for
the sake of the right and honorable ; the passions and
selfish propensities must be kept under strict control ;
there must be a sedulous cultivation of generosity, and
other sympathetic traits.

Longfellow’s beautiful little poem, “ Excelsior,”
gives a fine picture of the life of one who is aiming at
some high end. It ought to be memorized by every
person whose sentiments are in sympathy with the
meaning of that motto, “ Excelsior.” Though the
poem was written years ago, it will never grow old,
and we will venture to insert it :

The shades of night were falling fast,

As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore ’mid snow and ice,

A banner with the strange device:

“ Excelsior ! ”

His brow was sad; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,

And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,

“ Excelsior.”

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;

Above, the spectral glaciers shone,

And from his lips escaped a groan,

“ Excelsior.”

PERSEVERANCE.

435

“Try not the pass!” the old man said;

“ Dark lowers the tempest overhead,

The roaring torrent is deep and wide!”
But loud that clarion voice replied,

“ Excelsior ! ”

“O stay,” the maiden said, “and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast! ”

A tear stood in his bright blue eye,

But still he answered with a sigh,

“ Excelsior.”

“Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!”

This was the peasant’s last good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,

“ Excelsior ! ”

At break of day, as heavenward,

The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,

m

A voice cried through the startled air,

“ Excelsior ! ”

A traveler, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,

Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner with the strange device,

“ Excelsior.”

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,

And from the sky, serene and far,

A voice fell, like a falling star,

“ Excelsior.”

436

SELF-CULTURE.

So it is. He will be met by dangers and hardships ;
he will be counseled by the worldly-wise not to persist
in so toilsome and fruitless a search as his seems to
be, but to descend to a humbler and less fanciful
plane, and enjoy all the pleasures of animal exist¬
ence — to “eat, drink, and be merry”; love will employ
all her soft allurements to coax him into staying his
course, and substituting pleasure for duty as his guid¬
ing principle ; the greed, avarice and ambition of him¬
self and others will daily test the strength of his
devotion to duty. But whose heart fails to thrill in
sympathy with him who never turned aside from his
upward course while life lasted ? And after death,
may we not truly hear that same voice from the
clouds above, “Excelsior”?

We see, then, that a strong will is of the utmost
importance to the attainment of any high aim, and
especially to that of the one I have pointed out as
the most exalted one possible. It would be super¬
fluous to urge any farther the duty of cultivating it
to its fullest extent.

Self-Knowledge-.

ESIDES those particular duties to self which
come under the general headings of self-
care and self-culture, there are two which
do not seem to be clearly reducible to either
class ; these are self-knowledge and industry.

Considerable has already been said about
self-knowledge, that being the key-note of
this book. “ He that knows himself,” says Colton,
“ knows others ; and he that is ignorant of himself,
could not write a very profound lecture on other
men’s heads.”

There is nothing that helps a man in his conduct
through life more than a knowledge of his own char¬
acteristic weaknesses, which, guarded against, become
his strength, as there is nothing that tends more to
the success of a man’s talents than his knowing the
limits of his faculties, which are thus concentrated
on some practical object. One man can do but one
thing well. Universal pretensions end in nothing.
When a man perfectly understands himself, mentally,
and physically, and morally, his road to happiness is
smooth, and society has a strong guarantee for his
good conduct and usefulness. Some, by attempting

what they can never accomplish, lose the opportunity

437

43§

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

of doing what they might, and are oftener perplexed
than benefited by their folly.

“When the furious Orson saw his own image
reflected from his brother’s shield, he started back and
stayed his blow ; and many of our own attacks on
our brother’s faults might be arrested, if there were a
mirror on his bosom to show us our own likeness
there. You had better find out one of your own
weaknesses than ten of your neighbors.” A thorough
knowledge of ourselves and our weaknesses will act
in a two-fold manner in enabling us to control our
propensities ; we shall be utterly unable to maintain
command over ourselves unless we know our disposi¬
tions ; if we do know them, the chance will be much
better. Again, knowing that we have many faults,
many evil traits which it is extremely hard for us
to manage, we shall be much more sympathetic and
liberal in our dealings with others who are also imper¬
fect — much less apt to fly into a passion of anger
at some fault of theirs. The great and wise Goethe
said that the older he grew, the less harshness he felt
toward criminals of all classes, because he found, as
he became better and better acquainted with his own
character, that there was no crime which he himself,

under some circumstances, might not have committed.

«

Here then, in this added control over ourselves, is
another reason for considering the acquirement of
self-knowledge to be nothing less than a duty.

Again, it was shown some pages back that it is our
duty to seek knowledge in general. Self-knowledge

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

439

being one of the most valuable and dignified of all
kinds of learning, it surely follows that to attain it is
also a duty we owe to ourselves and the world. But it

is not merely on account of its value in business and

*

social affairs, that we need self-knowledge ; there are
some circumstance which bring it much nearer home
to the great aim of life, and make its acquirement a
positive duty. A man who did not understand the
construction, workings or purpose of a twine-binder
would be a poor hand to suggest improvements in its
mechanism. No one is likely to improve a thing which
he does not understand, and man himself is the most
complex object upon which anybody ever tried his skill
in improving things. All this being true, it is manifest
that self-knowledge must precede self-cultivation. Is
not, then, in point of time, our very first duty this of
learning to know ourselves ?

Thought and knowledge rule the world. Ignorance •
is the mother of weakness, pain and ruin. Knowledge
alone is strength inexhaustible. The highest intelli¬
gence is of self. The only true wealth or real advance¬
ment are of the mind and spirit ; and the supreme aim
of life is to advance toward the highest good. To do
this, we should be like Plato — searchers after truth.
The examination of human character brings us to
the study of the lives of others, and there can be no
greater aid than to keep before our minds the models
of the noblest men and women, which, like beacons on

4

the ocean’s shore, will not only light, but inspire us on
toward the harbor of perfection and a nearer approach

440

SELF-KNOWLEDGE.

to divinity. It is not enough for man to have pointed
out to him the distant heights on the farther shore,
or to simply be told what he ought to do ; he must
have set forth before him in the clearest manner the
principles and laws which underlie all actions and mold
human character. Such knowledge will be a light in
the hands of the wanderer, enabling him to see through
causes and their effects ; to discriminate the good from
the bad ; to right his own impulses, thoughts, and
actions, and approximate his true career and destiny.
Thus may he feel that —

“ The tissues of the life to be

He weaves with colors all his own,1
And in the fields of destiny
He reaps as he has sown.”

INDUSTRY.

LIFE of earnest purpose -is
an easy one ; perhaps there is more real
hard work in it than in any other plan of
existence a person could well choose. And
certainly no man is going to succeed in it
without constant and persistent industry.
The industrious man, the one who labors
unceasingly, willingly, yes, lovingly, at his
task, is the only one who ever succeeds
in any great work. Lazy men who go
complainingly to their work, are extremely
apt to return at the end of it with still
louder complaints. They cannot compre¬
hend the difference between their achievements and
those of their more energetic comrades, and must
attribute it all to “hard luck,” “unkind Providence,”
etc., for the last fault that a man will admit, even
to himself, is laziness.

Before we go on with the general phases of
industry, let us stop to consider for a brief while that
particular application of industry which is by half the
people practically thought to be all there is in the sub¬
ject, namely, industry in business. It is every mans

duty to get, if he can, enough wealth to make himself

441

a

by no means

442

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and his family comfortable, to provide proper means
for their education and continual refinement, as well
as for their amusement and pleasure, to render them
safe from hardship in case he should die, and to meet
the demands of reasonable charity. More than this
is superfluous. But to amass only so much as will
supply all these wants requires a great deal of care and
labor ; he must be an industrious man who can do it,
and not make of himself a mere slave to business.
There are other things in each man’s life which
need doing quite as badly as money-making, and in
order to get time for them, he must be active enough
about his business so that he can get through with
it in something considerably less than the sixteen
waking hours which every day brings. In some
towns, the retail dealers open their stores at about
six in the morning and keep them open until anywhere
from nine o’clock in the evening to midnight. They
say they are compelled to do it for the accommodation
of their trade. Such trade ought not to be accommo¬
dated ; it ought to be compelled to go without shoes,
and dresses, and cabbages until it learns to buy them
during reasonable business hours. The public work
of the vast banking interest has managed to condense
itself into the narrow space between nine o’clock A.M.,
and four (in some cities three) o’clock P.M. Some¬
thing like this ought to be done in all branches of
business ; it might easily enough be arranged if only
the co-operation of all could be secured. This would
give to the overworked business man, clerk, and

INDUSTRY.

443

mechanic, the time they so much need to spend with
their families in the cultivation of the refinements and
pleasures of civilized home life.

“ Do with thy might what thy hands find to do.”
Whatever you engage in, be vigorous about it; get
out of it all that there is in it for you of profit or
delight. Do not always act as if you expected to
live forever and spend all the time upon the par¬
ticular piece of work at which you are now engaged.
A lazy man, or a lazy woman, is an abomination in
the sight of the Lord, and in the sight of
humans as well. It is said that Epaminondas, the
great Theban general, found one of his captains
asleep during the daytime and, so strong was his
hatred of idleness, slew him. For this he was re¬
proved, when he answered that he left the man as
he found him — a dead man being as good as an
idle one.

Comte de Buffon, the great French naturalist, had
a saying that “genius is labor,” and his own career
is an excellent illustration of the fact. His mind
was somewhat slow, and in youth he was noted for
stupidity more than for anything else. But he deter¬
mined to make his life a success. Not being able
to rise at a sufficiently early hour, he instructed his
servant to rouse him, and promised him a crown
every time he succeeded in getting him up before
six. At first it was a difficult task ; Buffon would
make all sorts of excuses to be allowed to remain
a little longer in bed. Once the servant, in order

444

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to drive him out, resorted to the rather peculiar but
quite effective experiment of throwing a pan of cold
water under the covers. Buffon worked nine hours
a day at his desk, and re-wrote ‘'Epochs of Nature”
eleven times before he was content to leave it.
Richard Baxter was weak and feeble of body, and
was persecuted on account of his religious views,
being kept in prison at one time for eighteen
months ; but, notwithstanding these difficulties, his
industry was so great that he was able to enrich the
polemical and religious literature of the English lan¬
guage with no less than one hundred and sixty-eight
volumes. Luca Della Robbia, a celebrated sculptor
of Florence, and the discoverer of the art of enam¬
eling, worked all day and far into the night. It was
his custom to place his feet in the basket of shav¬
ings, to keep them from freezing, while he worked
on his drawings at night. Palissy, a famous French
potter, and the inventor of enameling in that coun¬
try, worked sixteen years on his discovery. Mean¬
while he was in such destitute circumstances that he
parted with a portion of his clothing to get material
for his experiments, and broke up the furniture and
shelving of his house to feed his furnace. As might
be expected, this patient industry was at last rewarded
by complete success.

The greatest orators have been those who made
most careful preparation. Cicero wrote out his
speeches beforehand, taking care to introduce into
them passages which would have the air of being

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445

extemporaneous. Of the six orations against Verres,
only one was actually delivered ; yet the remaining
five contain touches which would seem to be entirely
the result of momentary impulse. Webster disliked
to speak upon any given subject without careful *
preparation. It was the same with Demosthenes.
There is a good story which shows how Webster
worked. “ On a certain occasion Mr. Webster startled
the Senate by a beautiful and striking remark in rela¬
tion to the extent of the British Empire, as follows :

‘ She has dotted the surface of the whole globe with
her possessions and military posts, whose morning
drum-beat, following the sun and keeping company
with the hours, circles the earth daily with one con¬
tinuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs of
England.’ On going out of the Senate, one of the
members complimented Mr. Webster on this, saying
that he was all the more struck with it as it was
evidently impromptu. ‘You are mistaken,’ said Mr.
Webster; ‘the idea occurred to me while I was on
the ramparts of Quebec some months ago. I wrote
it down, and re-wrote it, and after several trials got
it to suit me, and laid it up for use. The time came
to-day, and so I put it in.’ ” One of the keenest
of English wits, the dread of Parliament, had all
his witticisms cut and dried, and sought opportunities
to introduce them naturally.

The amount of labor expended by Demosthenes
in fitting himself for his work as a public orator was
marvelous. When he made his first attempt at a

446

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public oration, his feeble and stammering voice, his
interrupted respiration, his ungraceful gestures, and
his ill-arranged periods, brought upon him general
ridicule. Returning home in the utmost distress, he
was reanimated by the kind aid of the actor Satyrus,
who, having requested Demosthenes to repeat some
passage from a dramatic poet, pronounced the same
extract after him with so much exactness of enuncia¬
tion, and in a manner so true to nature, that it
appeared to the young orator to be quite a different
passage. Convinced, thereupon, how much grace and
persuasive power a proper enunciation and manner
add to the best oration he resolved to correct the
deficiencies of his youth, and accomplished this with
a zeal and perseverance which have passed into a
proverb. How deeply he commands our respect and
admiration by his struggles to overcome his natural
infirmities, and remove the impressions produced by
his first appearance before his assembled countrymen !
He was not indebted for the glory he acquired either
to the bounty of nature, or to the favor of circum¬
stances, but to the inherent strength of his own uncon¬
querable will. To free himself from stammering, he
spoke with pebbles in his mouth, a story resting on
the authority of Demetrius Phalereus, his contem¬
porary. It also appears that he was unable to articu¬
late clearly the letter r ; but vanquished the difficulty
most perfectly — for Cicero says: “By exercise he
acquired the ability to speak very distinctly.” He
removed the distortion of features which accompanied

INDUSTRY.

447

his utterance, by watching the movements of his coun¬
tenance in a mirror ; and a naked sword was suspended
over his left shoulder, while he was declaiming in
private, to prevent its rising above the level of the
right. That his enunciation might be loud and full
of emphasis, he frequently ran up the steepest and
most uneven walks, an exercise by which his voice
acquired both force and energy ; and on the sea¬
shore, when the waves were violently agitated, he
declaimed aloud, to accustom himself to the noise
and tumult of a public assembly. He constructed a
subterranean study, where he would often stay for
two or three months together, shaving one side of
his head, that, in case he should wish to go abroad,
the shame of appearing in that condition might keep
him within. In this solitary retreat, by the light of
his lamp, he copied and recopied, ten times at least,
the orations scattered throughout the history of Thu¬
cydides, for the purpose of molding his own style
after so pure a model. Whatever may be the truth
of these several stories, Demosthenes got credit for
the most indefatigable labor in the acquisition of
his art. His enemies, at a subsequent period of his
career, attempted to ridicule this extraordinary indus¬
try, by remarking that all his arguments “smelt of
the lamp,” and they maliciously embraced the oppor¬
tunity of denying him the possession of natural talents,
ignoring his greatest talent, namely, untiring industry.

Men of that class, known in this country as
“ drummers,” often have peculiar experiences. The

448

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following anecdote, which is an excellent illustration
of the value of perseverance, forms something of a
contrast with the intense earnestness of Demosthenes.
It is told of a Scotch commercial traveler, hailing
from Leith, and representing a Scotch tweed house :
On a very cold December day, Sandy interviewed
a prospective customer, and pressed him very hard
to look at his “wee bit cloth paittrens.” After ex-

i

hausting all his more subtle arguments, Sandy said :
“ Mon ! you might jist luik at ma paittrens ; it wadna
tak ye a minit.”

“What’s the good of wasting your time and mine?
I want nothing.”

“ Ot, that disna mait’er, mon ! If ye jist see ane, I
ken ye’ll buy a piece or twa.”

“ It’s no use, I tell you ! I wish you would take
a denial, and not keep on bothering.”

“ Me maisther said to me, when he sent me oot,
says he, ‘ Sandy, when ye getv a likely customer, my
lad, aye stick til him.’ Noo, I think you’re a likely
chap to buy, and I maun jist dea as I’m tel’t, ye ken.”

“ Don’t you see my shop is full of customers, and
you keep on bothering me like this?”

“Well, ye canna serve customers richt unless ye
hae the richt stuff, ye ken. Sae the sunner ye luik
at ma paittrens, the better for us baith.”

“Will you go out of my shop, once for all?”

“No’ me. I’ve come a’ the way frae Leith to sell
ye stuff, an’ I’m no gaun awa’ without trying what I
can dea. Gang awa,’ mon, an’ serve yer costimers, I

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449

can wait — I’m in na hurry. Ye’ll buy a piece — may
be twa.”

“ Be off with you, or I shall have to kick you out.”

“ Hech, sir; ye wadna do that. ’Twad be action¬
able, ye ken ! ”

“ I’ll do it for you, nevertheless, if you’re not off,
soon.”

“ Ma guidness ! ye wadna dea’t. Gang on the noo.
I’ll bide yer time, mon.”

“Are you going, or are you not?”

“No’ jist at present, ma maunie. I maun show ye
ma paittrens.”

“ Go, follow your cap, then,” said the enraged shop¬
keeper, as he seized hold of Sandy’s Glengarry and
pitched it into the street, which was slush and mud.

Sandy uttered not a word. He simply left his
bundle on the counter, and stroking down his hair,
deliberately walked out into the street, picked up his
cap, and coming back into the shop with an unruffled
countenance, brushing his unfortunate head covering,
said to the merchant :

“ Weel, as you’ve pitched oot ma cap intil the street,
maybe ye’ll be good eneuch to luck at ma samples
noo.”

The people waiting to be served, and the merchant
himself, as well — all burst out into a hearty, good-
natured laugh at this instance of unruffled placidity
under insult. Sandy made pride subservient to inter¬
est, and never dreamed of allowing his muddy cap, or

his wounded feelings to stand in the way of selling a
29

450

INDUSTRY.

“ bit or twa of tweed, ye ken.” The popular feeling
was all in Sandy’s favor, and the merchant’s customers
strongly insisted that there must be something worth
looking at .in the bundle of the persevering Scotch
traveler. So the merchant relented, and when the
place was cleared, examined Sandy’s samples of tweeds,
and found them really good and cheap.

As a matter of course, virtue should always be
rewarded, according to orthodox popular narration.
Sandy booked an order. He now relates this anec¬
dote, and is proprietor of one of the finest estates
in Scotland. He can afford to look back with equa¬
nimity on the days when he was struggling hard as
a salesman. But he never forgets the Sandy of
former days, since the same muddy cap hangs in a
conspicuous place in his library. When any of his
friends ask him why he takes so much care of that
old thing, he replies that it is always to him an
emblem of perseverance. For the experience in
which that Glengarry played so conspicuous a part
so impressed itself upon Sandy’s mind that he never
rested until he had drove his nail home, and placed
himself in his present high position. “ Go thou and
do likewise.”

When Benjamin D’Israeli made his first speech in
Parliament he was met by a storm of ridicule on
account of his florid style and extravagant gestures.
He stopped short, with this remarkable prophecy:
“ I shall sit down now, but the time will come when
you will hear me.” For several years after, he made

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451

but few speeches, and studied very carefully the best
parliamentary orators. The result was that he became
the acknowledged leader of the Conservative party of
his nation, and so far overcame the prejudice against
his race (he was a Jew), as to be made Prime Min¬
ister of England at two separate times, and to be
created a peer with the title, Earl of Beaconsfield.

The founder of Russian civilization was Peter the
Great. When a boy, designing parties tried every
possible way to corrupt his morals and destroy his
energy of character. But his mind was strong enough
to resist their wiles and convert the very instruments
of corruption into means of education. So great
* was his desire to civilize his country, that he applied
himself personally to learn the arts of Western
Europe that he might the better introduce them
into Russia. For the sake of the drill, he enlisted
as a private in a company of soldiers, he learned
the arts of fortification, ship-building, etc., and thus
paved the way for the great advance his country made
during his reign.

Jared Sparks, once president of Harvard Col¬
lege, was, at the age of twenty years, a carpenter’s
apprentice. Constant, untiring industry was the lever
that raised him to his exalted position. Michael
Faraday, the greatest of chemists, was the son of
a blacksmith, had a brother who was a gas-fitter, and
was himself in his boyhood a book-binder’s appren¬
tice. Hard work is what made him. It is what makes
every man ; one may perhaps be a person without

452

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work, but he can hardly rise to the dignity of a man.
‘‘The idle man is an annoyance — a nuisance. He
is of no benefit to anybody ; he is an intruder in
the busy thoroughfare of every-day life ; he is of no
advantage ; he annoys busy men, he makes them
unhappy. He may have an income to support his
idleness, or he may ‘ sponge ’ on his good natured
friends, but in either case he is despised. Young
men, do something in this busy, bustling, wide-awake
world ! Move for the benefit of mankind, if not for
yourself. Do not be idle. God’s law is that by the
sweat of our brow we shall earn our bread.”

Here, I think, is the finest thing I ever read on
the subject of labor. It is one of Teufelsdrockh’s
sayings: “Two men I honor, and no third.. First,
the toil-worn craftsman, that, with earth-made imple¬
ment, laboriously conquers the earth, and makes her
man’s. Venerable to me is the hard hand, crooked,
coarse, but wherein, notwithstanding, lies a cunning
virtue, indefeasibly royal, as of the scepter of this
planet. Venerable, too, is the rugged face, all
weather-tanned, besoiled, with its rude intelligence ;
for it is the face of a man living manlike. Oh, but
the more venerable for thy rudeness, and even because
we must pity as well as love thee! Hardly-entreated
brother ! For us was thy back so bent, for us were
thy straight limbs and fingers so deformed : thou wert
our conscript, on whom the lot fell, and fighting our
battles wert thou so marred. For in thee, too, lay
a God-created form, but it was not to be unfolded;

INDUSTRY. 453

encrusted must it stand with the thick adhesions and
defacements of labor : and thy body, like thy soul,
was not to know freedom. Yet toil on, toil on : thou
art in thy duty, be out of it who may ; thou toilest
for the altogether indispensable, for daily bread.

“A second man I honor, and still more highly: him
who is seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable ;
not daily bread, but the bread of life. Is not he,
too, in his duty ; endeavoring toward inward har¬
mony ; revealing this, by act or by word, through all
his outward endeavors, be they high or low? High¬
est of all, when his outward and inward endeavor are
one : when we can name him Artist ; not earthly crafts¬
man only, but inspired thinker, who with heaven-
made implement conquers heaven for us! If the poor
and humble toil that we have food, must not the
high and glorious toil for him in return, that he
have light, have guidance, freedom and immortality ?
These too, in all their degrees, I honor : all else is
chaff and dust, which let the wind blow whither it
listeth.

“Unspeakably touching is it, however, when I find
both dignities united ; and he that must toil out¬
wardly for the lowest of man’s wants, is also toiling
inwardly for the highest. Sublimer in this world I
know nothing than a peasant saint, could such now
anywhere be met with. Such a one will take thee
back to Nazareth itself; thou wilt see the splendor
of heaven spring forth from the humblest depths of
earth, like a light shining in great darkness!”

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When the Romans crossed the Alps, and began
to overrun that part of Europe which now includes
Germany, northern France, and some smaller coun¬
tries, and when they crossed the channel to what
are now known as the British Islands, the things
that most attracted their attention were the cold,
barren, inhospitable nature of the climate and soil
as compared with the smiling warmth and fertility
of their own sunny Italy, and the coarse savageness,
the utter absence of culture, comfort, and everything
else that civilization brings with it, notable among
the inhabitants. All this was less than two thou¬
sand years ago. What a contrast between the view
that presented itself to Caesar and his armies and
that which now draws hundreds of tourists from our
far-away western land every year ! The country that
was a barren wilderness then supports at least one
hundred and twenty millions of people now. Every¬
where one is surrounded, not by the signs of bar¬
barism, but by those of the very highest civilization
now visible on earth. Everything is there almost
that a man could wish to see in the way of material
things. The physical man could scarcely ask for a
comfort of any kind which could not be readily sup¬
plied in those great centers of trade — London, Paris,
Berlin. The mental part of our nature is yet more
richly supplied. It has the British Museum, and the
National Library of France; Germany, too, can fur- >
nish it with many fine old libraries, and with great
galleries containing the works of a long list of

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455

masters of that finest of the arts, painting. Persist¬
ent industry, united to intelligence, i-s the only avenue
through which all this could have been brought about.
And history shows that industry has been at work in
those countries nearly all this time, patiently remov¬
ing difficulties, and converting a desert into a blooming
garden. For lack of intelligent minds and industrious
hands, Egypt, with her wonderful natural advantages,
has sunk to an almost insignificant place in the man¬
agement of the world’s affairs. For the same cause
many other countries of Africa, Asia, and South
America are kept far in the background, though
they possess great natural advantages of soil and
climate, of which lands lying far north of the equator
cannot boast.

“ A used key is always bright,” says an old proverb.
So is anything, used. Rust eats the vitality out of
things much faster than use wears it away. A complex
and delicate machine may be used constantly for years,
if well taken care of, but a long bill of repairs will have
to be paid if it is left standing idle and exposed to sun
and storm for a few months. If a man uses his mind
and body under the right conditions, they become
constantly smoother and more vigorous in their actions,
while if he lets them lie dormant, it gets harder and
harder with every day that passes for them to act ;
the rust of inactivity seems to eat into them, taking
away the vitality and strength. Literary men are per¬
haps the ones who put the heaviest and most constant
burdens upon their minds, and yet Mr. D Israeli made

#

j ,

456

INDUSTRY.

out a list of twenty industrious literary workers of
whom, if I remember rightly, not one was under ninety
when he died, and whose aggregate age was almost
two thousand years, to make which would require an
average of one hundred.

There is no man so pressed with business or
household cares that he does not find some leisure
hours ; in fact, if each man will stop to count up all
the time he wastes in the course of a week, he will
be startled at the amount of it. If all this time
which he commonly wastes were put to some good
purpose, he might accomplish more than he has
dreamed of. Many of the world’s master minds took
their first lessons in thinking in just this way. Horace
Greeley was one such man. Daniel Webster and
Abraham Lincoln were two more ; Garfield was
another. A modern scholar of considerable note
learned to write and solve problems in the leisure
moments of his life as a shoemaker’s apprentice,
using, instead of the paper and pencil, which he had
not money enough to buy, waste bits of leather ham¬
mered smooth, upon which he scratched with an awl.
Orange Judd is another triumph of clear grit over
environment. Without a dollar of help not earned by
himself, or the prospect of any, he started for the school
where he was to prepare for college ; earned corn by
working for neighboring farmers ; carried it himself
to the mill to have it ground, and brought back the
meal to his room ; cooked it himself as mush ; milked
a cow or two daily for his pint of milk per day ;

INDUSTRY. 457

and so lived on mush and milk as his chief subsistence
for months together. Afterward he worked his own
way through Wesleyan University and a three years’
post-graduate course at Yale. He afterward became
one of the wealthiest men of the nation, and in 1869
gave to the same college he had worked his way
through when young, the munificent sum of one hun¬
dred thousand dollars.

Employ these odd minutes, then. Do something
useful with them. An astonishing amount of work
of whatever kind you please can be accomplished
in these minutes, if only they are not allowed to
escape.

I should not like to be understood however as
counting amusements to be of no value. Often to
spend our time in good hearty amusement is the
very best disposition that we can make of it. All
rivers, whether they are small or large, agree in
one character ; they like to lean a little on one
side ; they cannot bear to have their channels deepest
in the middle, but will always, if they can, have one
bank to sun themselves upon, and another to get
cool under; one shingly shore to play over, where
they may be shallow and foolish, and child-like ; and
another steep shore, under which they can pause and
purify themselves, and get their strength of waves
together for due occasions. Rivers in this way are
just like wise men, who keep one side of their life
for play and another for work ; and can be brilliant
and chattering and transparent when they are at ease,

45§

INDUSTRY.

and yet take deep counsel on the other side when they
set themselves to the main purpose.

“ Satan finds work for idle hands to do,” “An idle
brain is the devil’s workshop,” are two old proverbs
that contain a deal of truth. It is not generally from
among the industrious, working classes that our crim¬
inals come, but from among the street loafers. A
working man has neither time nor occasion for the
commission of crime. A warden of the Massachu¬
setts state prison said : “ Eight out of every ten come
here by liquor, and a great curse is not learning a
trade. Young men get the notion that it is not
genteel to learn a trade ; they idle away their time,
get into saloons, acquire the habit of drinking, and
then gambling, and then they are ready for any
crime.”

A concomitant of human industry is thoroughness.
Thorough and through are the same word ; Shakes¬
peare uses either of them, as suits his measure best.
Thoroughness, then, is the quality of carrying every¬
thing through , finishing it. And it is indeed a valuable

quality to possess ; it is the result of perseverance and

•

industry united. The man who is thorough about
whatever he undertakes, does it well, finishes it, gets
a great deal more personal satisfaction out of the result
of his labors, and rises a great deal faster and farther
in his trade or profession than the one who does his
work in a slip-shod manner or leaves it half done. Be
thorough, then ; remember the maxim that “ Whatever
is worth doing at all, is worth doing well.”

INDUSTRY.

459

Time never passes so slowly and tediously as to
the idle and listless. The best cure for dullness, is
to keep busy. “ It is better to do the most insig¬
nificant thing in the world,” Goethe somewhere says,
“ than to regard a single half-hour as insignificant.”
Industry “sweeteneth our enjoyments, and seasoneth
our attainments with a delightful relish,” says Barrow.
A man who gives his children habits of industry, pro¬
vides for them better than by giving them a fortune.

\

HERE is one more duty which may be most
conveniently mentioned in this connection ;
it is that of avoiding all cruelty in our treat¬
ment of animals. Kindness is one of the
essentials to a beautiful character. Harsh¬
ness, crabbedness, and cruelty are always
and everywhere vulgar and ugly. They are
signs of a coarse-grained, weak nature.
Kindness to everybody and everything,
especially to inferiors, is an element of
the manliest manhood. Occasion will arise
hereafter to speak of the duty of kindness
to persons, but that of kindness to animals
is a duty to ourselves, for we cannot afford
to be unkind to anything. This matter has never been
agitated much until within late years. It was not until
1835 that bull-baiting was prohibited by law in Eng¬
land. Bull-fights still occur occasionally in Spain,
though the custom is dying out. A match at pigeon¬
shooting is a thing we frequently hear of. The same
sport is thus spoken of in England: “One need only
go to Hurlingham on ladies’ day to see the cruelty
with which pigeons are treated. The poor things

are let out of their trap, and are shot down for a

bet, dyeing the ladies’ dresses with, their blood. There

460

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

461

is as much clapping of hands as at a Spanish bull-fight.
The pricked bird, the bird with a broken leg, contrives
to fly out of the field, and falls into some covert
place, and there dies after a long agony. Is this
the lesson of humanity that English women would
teach to their sons and daughters? The fashion for
birds’ wings in ladies’ dresses has been a woeful thing
for birds. They have been shot down in all countries
to supply ‘gentle woman’s’ passion for birds’ wings.
The ‘Spectator’ mentions a marriage in which eleven
bridesmaids wore dresses trimmed with swan’s down
and robins. What a slaughter of birds for that one
wedding ! The robins should have been draped in
blood. But ladies will permit the slaughter rather
than be out of fashion. But bird slaughter has now
reached proportions which threaten the extinction of
some of the most beautiful of God’s creatures.”

“I venture to hope,” said the Archbishop of York,
“that the time is not far off when it will be a matter
of curious history that English gentlemen once used to
publish it abroad with satisfaction that they and their
friends had in a couple of days killed two thousand
head of game that had been driven together into
a wood for certain death. Then, again, the trapped
bird, released without a chance, wounded again and
again, and picked up fluttering and suffering, is
made a pastime for strong men, and when women
make a holiday over such sport, it shows that they
are without love or pity. It reflects a shadow, and
becomes a painful study indeed.”

462

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

The draught horses in common service are often
poor, crippled, over-loaded, galled by the badly fitting
harness ; and when, under such circumstances, they
cannot do the work their brutal masters think they
should, they are unmercifully beaten. The horses
that draw the fine carriages of the rich, sometimes
receive treatment that might almost be called worse.
Their heads are held in an unnatural position by
tight reins, and their mouths are torn by harsh bits.
Birds, and various animals whose nature it is to roam
freely through the air and forests, are captured and
held prisoners during the remainder of their lives.
Innumerable are the modes of cruelty practiced upon
the helpless brutes, both wild and tame.

To man was given the dominion over all creatures ;
but the right was only given him to use, and not to
abuse them. We have a right to employ the horse,
the cow, the dog, the sheep, any animal in our service ;
but we have no right to starve them, beat them, over¬
work them, or shut them up in foul, unhealthy pens.
These faithful and affectionate creatures surely deserve
better treatment at our hands. We must not try to
excuse ourselves with the thought that they know no
other way, have no finer feelings, and could not
appreciate better treatment if we gave it them. The
hog is notorious as the most filthy of all domestic
animals, and even he, if given a fair chance, will divide
up his sty into apartments for the different purposes
of eating, sleeping, and other requirements of hog life,
and will vigorously adhere to the division he has made,

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

4^3

and lead a comparatively clean existence. Most brutes
are a great deal more susceptible to the influences of
gentle usage than very many men imagine. A number
of cases are on record of dogs which have remained at
the graves of their masters until death by starvation
ensued ; as, for example, the well-known case of Bobby,
the dog who watched over his master’s grave for four
years, until he finally died in his task. A monument
was erected outside the churchyard to perpetuate the
memory of the faithful beast. And only recently an
instance was reported from one of the southern states
of a negro who had been confined in prison for some
offense, and whose dog remained outside the build¬
ing and howled so piteously for his master, that the
citizens of the town, out of sympathy for the poor
creature, built a kennel for him and provided him with
food,, and finally petitioned for the pardon of the
criminal on account of the affection for him exhibited
by the dog, thinking that one wholly bad could not
be the object of so warm an attachment.

“ Thoreau, of Concord, Massachusetts, was like the
old hermits in his love for animals. He took to the
woods, near Walden Pond, in 1845. He began to
build a house, to the surprise of the raccoons and
squirrels. But the animals soon began to know that
he meant them no harm. He would lie down on a
fallen tree, or on the edge of a rock, and remain
quiet. The squirrel, or raccoon, or woodchuck would
come closer and closer upon him, and even touch him.
The news went through the woods that there was

464 KINDNESS TO ANIMALS,

a man amono* them who would not kill them. There

o

arose a beautiful sympathy between the man, and
the birds, and the animals. They came at his call.
Even the snakes would wind round his feet. On
taking a squirrel from a tree, the little creature would
refuse to leave him, and hide its head in Thoreau’s
waistcoat. He had built his house over a wood-
mouse’s nest ; and at length the wood-mouse, at first
terrified, came and picked up the crumbs at his feet.
Then it would run over his shoes and over his clothes.

At last the wood-mouse became so tame that it ran

\

along his sleeves, while he was sitting at his bench,
and round and round the paper which held his dinner.
When he took up a bit of cheese, the wood-mouse
came and nibbled it, sitting in his hand, and when
it was finished, it cleaned its face and paws like a fly,
and walked away. We have never heard of such a
communion between man and animals, except in the
case of hermits, so plentifully recorded by Kenelm
Digby, in his ‘ Mores Catholic.’ ”

In the chapter on memory an anecdote was quoted
of an elephant which, having been kindly treated by
a soldier in an Eastern army, shielded him for several
hours against the officers who wished to punish him
for drunkenness. (See page 122.)

One of the most zealous of the English apostles
of kindness to animals is Edward Fordham Flower,

a man who has had a very remarkable history. He

%

was born in Hertford, England, in 1805. An incident
of his boyhood which probably had much influence

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

465

upon his subsequent career, is thus described : “At
six, he got a pony. His uncle, Edward K. Ford-
ham, purchased for him a beautiful present — a saddle,
bridle, and whip. One day he was out with his
father, and flogged the pony because he shied at
something on the road. His father saw it, and called
him back. ‘Now, Ned, why did you flog that pony?’
‘Because it shied.’ ‘Well, don’t you see that there
was a deep hole into which you were leading him?’
His father took from his hand the whip and laid it
across his shoulders. ‘Do you like that?’ ‘No,’
said the boy, ‘I detest it.’ ‘Well, then, Ned, never
flog a pony unless it is absolutely necessary.’” When
he was twelve years old, his father sold his property
in England and removed to America, settling in
Edwards county, in the southeast part of Illinois, a
vast wilderness at that time, inhabited mostly by
Indians. This was during slavery times, and the
Flowers took an active part in helping the negroes
who had escaped across the Ohio, and also against
the bands of kidnappers who made a business of
capturing free blacks and selling them in the southern
markets. By this opposition they gained the hatred
of the pro-slavery men, and Flower was obliged to
flee the country in order to save his life. He returned
to England at the age of twenty, and has lived in
that country since then. In 1869 he had a stroke
of paralysis and lost the use of the English language.
He had to begin again with nouns, adjectives, adverbs,

and thus on.

30

466

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

He went to Rome, and his health improved. Then
he went to Pau in the south of France. In all places
he saw the cruelty inflicted upon horses, mules and
donkeys. He almost cried over them. When he came
to live in London, in 1873, he set himself to work
to cure the mischief that was being done to horses —
especially by the use of bits and bearing-reins. He
bought a black horse. It had previously been curbed,
bitted and tortured. He cured the horse at once by
takinof off the instruments of torture. He wrote a
letter to the “ Times,” and, through the instrumentality
of the late Sir Arthur Helps, it was inserted. It was
at his instance Sir Arthur composed his work upon
“Animals and their Masters.” He went to a meet¬
ing of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals, and found a dozen carriages at the door
with the horses gagged up by bits and bearing-reins,
standing there for hours together. He went to the
committee, but they would not hear him. The chair¬
man ordered him out of the room.

He went on his way, nevertheless. He was not
to be gagged. He wrote letters to all the daily
papers, which were inserted. He thus roused public
opinion on the subject. He next published his pam¬
phlet on “ Bits and Bearing-reins,” and scattered it
broadcast throughout the country. It was followed
by “ Horses and Harness,” a sequel to the first pam¬
phlet ; and that, too, was largely circulated. Mr.
Flower gives the following description of the harness¬
ing of the horses of a fashionable “turn-out”: “A

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

46 7

tight bearing-rein is used to pull the horses’ heads
up, and a fixed martingale to pull them down, close
blinkers to prevent them seeing their way, cruppers
which are obliged to be tight to hold the bearing-
reins in their places, so that the heads and tails of
the animals are tied tight together. To obtain a
little ease by shortening its back when standing still,
the horse extends its fore feet beyond their natural
position, while the hinder ones are proportionately
thrown back, causing inflammation and navicular lame¬
ness. The tight bearing-rein, by holding the head
in an unnatural and fixed position, strains the wind¬
pipe and respiratory organs, inducing ‘ heavy-breath¬
ing’ and other maladies. The front part of the bridle
is frequently too short, thereby hurting the lower
part of the ears ; also the winker strap, which, when
tight, besides drawing the winkers too close, pulls
forward the top of the bridle so as to press upon
and hurt the back of the ears ; and when the horse
shows signs of uneasiness by throwing up its head,
he is punished by more and tighter straps, the coach¬
man seldom troubling himself to find out and remedy
the cause of the irritation.

“ Fashion is strong — stronger I fear, than our
humanity — but still I have hopes. Fashion no longer
orders horses to be cropped, docked, and nicked;
therefore, these new forms of distortion and cruelty
may give way. If a few leaders of fashion would join
with men and women of common sense and lovers
of humanity, we should soon wipe out this blot upon

468

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

our civilization. I am happy to have been allowed
to raise my feeble voice in the cause ; and I heartily
thank all of those (and they are many), who have
come forward to help and encourage me. I shall
persevere, and, though I am old, I do not despair
of living long enough to deserve to have it engraved
upon my tomb-stone : ‘He was one of those men who
caused the bearing-rein to be abolished.’ ”

o

Aside from all moral considerations, self-interest
ought to be a sufficient incentive to the proper care
of animals. A well-fed, well-groomed horse will do

much more work than the half-starved, ill-tended

r t

skeleton, so common on our streets. The cow that
is kept clean, and allowed the run of a good pasture,
and given plenty of turnips, pumpkins, and other
things which cows esteem as delicacies, will give more
and better milk than one which is stinted in her allow¬
ance of food. To beat an animal upon the slightest
provocation is by no means the best way to train it
to a habit of constant obedience. On the contrary,
it is the surest possible method of making it timid,
vicious, and worthless. Mr. Rarey, probably the most
successful of all horse-trainers, never used the whip. *

A man who, in spite of all the dictates of prudence
and humanity, can so degrade himself as to beat or
otherwise misuse the helpless creatures intrusted to
his care, must be himself worse than a brute ; he must
have a lump of steel where his heart ought to be. It
is to be hoped that Mr. Flower, Mr. Bergh and their
co-laborers will succeed in educating the public senti-

KINDNESS TO ANIMALS.

469

ment to such a point that it will be a disgrace, and
universally acknowledged as such, for a man to in any
way mistreat his animals ; and that it will be felt by
every one that to deprive them of their liberty is
enough, without adding any more of trouble to their
not too pleasant lives.

1

Duties to ©thers.

AN is a social being by nature,
and he could not if he wished,
live profitably in entire selfish¬
ness. That enterprise, labor, or
^ business, which is not in some way

k a benefit to other people is in every
case a degrading business. The human
heart cannot long be satisfied without
feeling that it is doing something for the
benefit of others. The elements of sym-
^ pathy (see page 259), the love of others
(page 272), and the desire for the esteem
of others (page 305), are too deeply rooted in the
nature of man to be either ignored or slighted. The
general welfare of the race demands that men should
labor for one another, and we find that the highest
elements in man’s nature are strengthened and im¬
proved by a faithful discharge of all our duties in
this direction.

The Egyptians, in their hieroglyphics, expressed

470

0

*

ANALYSIS. 471

the unprofitableness of a selfish life by a single mill¬
stone, which, being alone, grinds no meal, though
with its fellow it would be exceedingly profitable for
that purpose. Our duties to others can be conven¬
iently analyzed, and shown as follows :

Honesty.

Honesty in Business.
-< Mental Honesty.

" Honorable Shrewdness.
■< Equal Chances.
k Pay as You Go.

Universal Honesty.

Sympathy.

Duties to
Others.

Gratitude.

Courtesy.

{False Pride and Insolence.
Politeness.

Truthfulness. -<

May we ever Falsify?
Evil Speaking.
Exaggeration.

. Charity.

' Where and How to Give.
Forgiveness and Mercy.

N honest man ’s the noblest work of God,”
says Pope. He might also have called him
the rarest work of God ; for a thoroughly
honest man, a man honest in business,
honest in social life, honest with others
and honest with himself , seems to be rather
a rare thing. Animals are not respecters
of the rights of others and if men will
allow themselves to listen to the whisper¬
ings from the animal side of their natures, they
will be quite sure to show a tendency to dishonesty.
They may pay all their debts- to the last cent;
their word may be as good as their bond ; they
may *not cheat you about anything you are buying
of them or selling to them ; they may even supply
your lack of knowledge by telling you fairly the
defects of the thing they have to sell, and the merits
of the thing they wish to buy of you. But while
they are honest in everything else, they will defraud
the government in making out their lists of taxable
property ; or, if they hold official positions, their
requisitions for stationery and other office supplies
will be altogether larger than their needs would
justify ; or in some of the manifold relations of

HONESTY IN BUSINESS.

473

society their integrity will prove weak. It needs no'
argument to prove that all this is wrong. Every¬
body admits that honesty is right, and that every¬
thing opposed to it is absolutely wrong. But people
have a hundred little loop-holes, out of which they
try to slip in particular cases.

A separate outline of this subject is presented
before treating in detail :

r

Honesty. <

Honesty in Business.
Mental Honesty.

r Honorable Shrewdness.

Equal Chances.

[ Pay as You Go.

Universal Honesty.

Honesty in Business.

Probably the first, simplest and most universally
acknowledged requirement of an honest business
man, is that he shall pay his debts. But a very
great many refuse to fulfill the requirement ; if they
owe you a debt and you have not legal evidence of
it, they refuse to pay, because they know that no
course in common law can compel them. In all
moral right, they are just as much bound to pay the
money they owe upon a verbal promise, as that for
which they have given note and mortgage, but they
decline doing it, simply because the debt cannot be

t

proved upon them and they can escape it. If a
mistake has been made in the calculations of a bar-

474

HONESTY.

gain, they will not rectify it, although the mutual
understanding was clear for the amount rightly due.
But we will not stop longer upon this point, for such
men are the outlaws of every business community,
and it is not long before the people find them out
and utterly refuse to trust them in any way.

v

HONORABLE SHREWDNESS.

It is not so with the shrewd man, who always does
as he promises, but always tries to get the best end
of every bargain by fair means or foul. He seems
to be held in high honor as the embodiment of
sharpness. He is proud of his acuteness. You will
often hear him boasting about his great bargains,
and glorying over his tremenduous shrewdness in
trade. There can be no doubt that this is a false
state of public opinion. Fraud and treachery ought
not to be elevated to the position of demi-gods,
while honesty and simple-heartedness are laughed at

‘V

as evidences of “greenness.” The day may come
when it will appear that after all the swindler was
“greener” than the swindled. That quaint philoso¬
pher, Josh Billings, has said, “Beware ov the man
who iz prouder ov hiz smartness than he iz of hiz
honesty.”

AN EQUAL CHANCE.

The excuse commonly urged in palliation of cheat¬
ing is, that all persons have equal chance ; that it is
generally understood that every person will get as

AN EQUAL CHANCE.

475

much as he can, and give as little as he can ; that it
is a game of diamond cut diamond. Surely this is
no valid excuse. I have no right to do wrong
merely because I give some one else the privilege
of doing a counter-balancing wrong. My duty is to
find out what is right, and then do it, regardless of
what other people may be in the habit of doing, or
of what they may have the permission of society to>
do. Besides, the man with whom I am dealing may
have a conscience not quite so lax as mine ; he may
not feel himself at liberty to cheat, or he may not
know how to cheat, and in either case he has not
the equal chance I talk about.

TAKING ADVANTAGE OF IGNORANCE.

There is a very nice question in connection with
honesty in trade, namely: Is a man in duty bound to
supply the deficiencies in his neighbor’s knowledge
when engaged in trade with him ? For illustration :
it is said that Rothschild, the great London banker of
half a century ago, anticipating the battle of Waterloo,,
and knowing the great effect that a decisive battle
would have upon the prices of government securities,
was himself present at the fight. He had posted relays
of horses at intervals of a few miles, and as soon as
he had seen the defeat of Napoleon, he traveled as fast
as his fresh horses could carry him, reaching London
nearly two days in advance of the official messengers,
there being no railroads or telegraph at that time.
The people were very anxious and fearful, and hence

4/6

HONESTY.

government securities were low. Rothschild bought
up all he could of them, and made a great sum by
the rise in prices that of course followed the news
of England’s victory. Now the question is, did Roths¬
child do right, or was it his duty to inform the people
of the battle and its result ? There are writers on
ethics who would claim that the action was morally
wrong, and that he had no right to take advantage
of the ignorance of the people concerning the battle.
But such a view chills much active enterprise. If
he did not in any way excite or seek to excite
their fears, he had a perfect right to take all advan¬
tage of his superior enterprise and foresight. He was
not violating any trust, because people did not depend,
and had no right to depend upon him for informa¬
tion. The holders of the bonds were as competent
as he was to judge of their value, had they but taken

«

equal care to learn the circumstances.

Had Rothschild been employed by the govern¬
ment in any way, and had then taken advantage of
his knowledge gained in this capacity, it would have
been different. But his superior information in this
•case was his own private expense and enterprise. The
boundary line is narrow, but to me it seems perfectly
distinct, between the action of Rothschild in this
case, and that of a merchant who does not expose
the defects of his wares. The distinction has already
been pointed out. In the merchant’s case, the cus¬
tomer, comparatively ignorant, and excusably so, of
the articles dealt in by the merchant, relies upon

TAKING ADVANTAGE OF IGNORANCE. 477

him for correct information as to the quality and
value of the goods he wishes to purchase, and it is
a gross betrayal of confidence if he withholds facts
essential to that information. The cost of the article
to the merchant is, however, immaterial to the pur¬
chaser. The fact that the merchant got it cheap
does not make it any the less valuable to him. If
I wish to buy a diamond, it makes no difference to
me whether the seller paid a thousand dollars for it
at a jeweler’s, or found it while walking for pleasure.
The price I can afford to pay for it is the same in

either case ; it is in no way affected by the amount

of profit to the seller. Hence I have no right to

ask its cost to him, but may only demand that he

1 1

shall correctly inform me of its quality, weight and
value at current prices.

It has been said that “honesty is the best policy,
and it has also been said that “ honesty is no policy
at all.” Both sayings, though apparently opposites,
are in a sense true. Honesty is not policy, because
true honesty must have a deeper spring than mere
policy. True honesty must do the right, so far as
known, under all circumstances, whether it seems
politic or impolitic to do it. Honesty has in its
nature nothing to do with prudence or policy. On
the other hand, it has been noticed that honesty is
not compelled to wait for another world for its
reward ; it is paid in this. The arts of deceit and
cunning continually grow weaker and less effectual
and serviceable to them that use them ; whereas

478

HONESTY.

integrity gains strength by use ; and the more and
longer any man practices it, the greater service it
does him, by confirming his reputation, and encour¬
aging those with whom he hath to do, to repose the
greatest trust and confidence in him ; which is an

"O

unspeakable advantage in the business and affairs of
life. Men of great wealth are usually men of strict
honesty (taking the word in its commercial sense),
and very often their honesty, more than anything else,
was the beginning and cause of their prosperity.
Innumerable examples might be given.

Probably the wealthiest family in the world is that
of the Rothschilds. The commencement of their won¬
derful career is said to have been this: In 1806,
Napoleon ordered that the sovereigns of Brunswick
and Hesse-Cassel should be deprived of their estates.
The landgrave of Hesse-Cassel had a very large
fortune in coined money, which he desired to secrete.
He was afraid to trust it with any of his subjects, and
finally put it in the care of Meyer Anselm Rothschild,
a banker of Frankfort-on-the-Main, because he could
think of no other person so worthy of confidence.
Rothschild’s reward for keeping it was that he might
use it without having to pay interest. He managed
carefully and made large profits from it. After the
first fall of Napoleon, the landgrave returned to his
country, and was about to recall the money. When
Napoleon escaped, however, he again urged Roths¬
child to keep the enormous fund, and pay two per
cent for the use of it, and this arrangement was

TAKING ADVANTAGE OF IGNORANCE.

479

made and kept until the landgrave’s death, when the
banker returned the money, declining to keep it longer.
It was their fidelity in this matter that gave the house
of Rothschild its start ; and throughout their career,
its members have adhered to the same strict honesty.

Commodore Vanderbilt, the founder of the greatest
private fortune in America, began life as a boatman ;
and he was soon able to get all the best contracts,
and at prices largely in advance of those of some
of his rivals, simply because he could always be
depended upon to do exactly what he promised to
do. One of the principal causes of the success of
A. T. Stewart, who had the largest fortune ever won
in mercantile business, was the fact that a child could
go to his store and get just as good an article, and
get it just as cheap, as the most experienced trader.
He required his clerks to be absolutely honest in all
their dealings with customers.

One reason why Lincoln was elected President of
the United States, and has always been so wonder¬
fully popular all over the world, was the fact that he
was “ Honest Abe.” It is sad that honesty is so scarce
an article that it makes available capital for a race
for the highest office in the country. It ought to
come a little cheaper than that. We ought to be
able to take it for granted that all candidates for
positions of honor and trust possessed this first of
all requirements, honesty. But we are sometimes
almost forced to feel that we must consider ourselves
fortunate if we do not get thieves and swindlers in

4S0

HONESTY.

our highest offices, and we are compelled to cry out
in the words of Whittier :

“ Praise and thanks for an honest man ! ”

PAY AS YOU CxO.

“Mr. President,” said John Randolph in the
Senate one day ; “ I have discovered the philoso¬
pher’s stone ! It consists of four short words of
homely English, Pay as you go /” And well he
might call his short and homely maxim the philoso¬
pher’s stone, for it converts into gold all that it
touches. Few men have incomes so small that,
acting upon this advice with due care, they may
not live in the enjoyment of reasonable physical
comfort, and of that spiritual luxury worth more
than any external convenience, which springs from
perfect independence. Few men, on the other hand,
have incomes so large, that the pernicious habit of
consuming things not paid for may not poison their
every pleasure, and render their lives one long suc¬
cession of miseries. The man involved in debt knows
not the joy of looking the world squarely in the
face and saying : “ I owe you nothing.” There must
be always a timorous dread of meeting his creditor,
and a fear that he may be called upon to pay, and
be shamed in his inability to do so. The man who
buys on credit feels obliged to trade always at the
same place, whether it is the most desirable place
or not. The man who pays as he goes, has the

PAY AS YOU GO.

481

world open to choose from. He walks with the
sovereign right of the honest man into whatsoever
shop he will, always welcome, always getting the
best, and getting it at the lowest price. His sleep
is sweeter, his meat is more toothsome, his clothes
feel easier, his joys are more ecstatic, and his sorrows
are lighter than those of the debtor.

Paying of debts is, next to the grace of God, the
best means in the world to deliver you from a thou-
sand temptations to sin and vanity. Pay your debts,
and you will not have the wherewithal to buy a costly
toy or a pernicious pleasure. Pay your debts, and
you will have nothing to lose to a gamester. In
short, pay your debts, and you will of necessity abstain
from many indulgences that war against the spirit,
and bring you into captivity to sin, and cannot fail
to end in your utter destruction, both of soul and
body.

Avoid debt, then, with religious care. If you
never owe anything, you are sure never to be dis¬
honestly avoiding payments, and never to be harassed
by creditors.

“ The chain of a debtor is heavy and cold,

Its links, all corrosion and rust;

Gild it o’er as you will, it is never of gold;

Then spurn it aside with disgust.”

It is said that a skilled detective can always tell
a criminal at sight. The consciousness of guilt never
leaves him, and wherever he goes, whatever disguise
he may assume, his face is marked by a furtive, hunted
31

482

HONESTY.

look. He cannot look you in the eyes; it seems to
him that you read his guilty soul through and through
at every glance. And this is true, not only of great
criminals, but also of those whose offenses have been
less. Something of that same timid, sly look will
inevitably cling to them. A man feels so much
stronger and manlier, he respects himself so much
more, when he is conscious of having been fair and
honest in all his dealings than when he has a linger¬
ing sense of some mean act. “ Let honesty be as
the breath of thy soul,” says Franklin; “and never
forget to have a penny when all thy expenses are
enumerated and paid ; then shalt thou reach the point
of happiness, and independence shall be thy shield
and buckler, thy helmet and crown ; then shall thy
soul walk upright, nor stoop to the silken wretch
because he hath riches, nor pocket an abuse because
the hand that offers it wears a ring set with diamonds.”

Honesty has thus far been spoken of only in its
connection with money affairs ; but its sphere is a

much wider one. It permeates all the affairs of social

life. Our honesty or dishonesty may make itself felt
in a hundred different ways. Are you stingy in
according to your neighbor his meed of praise for
the good he has done? Do you withhold from him
the recognition of his good qualities, his courage, his
generosity, his honesty, his industry, his learning ?

MENTAL HONESTY.

483

Do you try to dodge the debt of gratitude you owe
him for his good will and his practical kindness to
you? If so, then you are dishonest, and weakly
dishonest. Do you try to pass in the world for a
more religious man than you are ? Then you are
that basest of creatures, the hypocrite. Do you
pretend to greater wealth, more extensive information,
or higher ability than is really yours? That, too, is
dishonesty. Be honest in all these things. Pay to
every man his just dues of recognition as well as of
money ; do not attempt to seem what you are not.
Be honest and frank, even with your enemy. Above
all, be honest with yourself. Self-deception is most
baleful in its effects ; it will cripple all your efforts,
and render them unproductive of good for yourself
or anybody else. Examine yourself carefully, and
find out just what you are ; then make no attempt
to flatter yourself or convince yourself that you possess
desirable traits of character which really form no part
of your nature.

Universal Honesty.

We have already seen that the word duty means
a thing owed, and that hence the fulfillment of duty
is nothing more nor less than the payment of debt.
Thus honesty lies at the very bottom of all right
doing, is the basis and foundation of it, and if we
would live right lives we must lay this idea of per¬
fect honesty next our hearts and make it a part of

484

HONESTY.

our inmost souls. Hillel, a famous Jewish Rabbi,
who lived a few years before the time of Christ,
was once asked in derision by a heathen whether he
could teach the whole law while standing on one
foot. “ What you would not like done to yourself,
do not to your neighbor,” he answered; “this is the
whole law: all the rest is commentary on it — go
learn this.” Christ himself strengthened the com¬
mand and made it active instead of passive, saying :

“ Therefore, all things whatsoever ye would that

men should do to you, do ye even so to them.”

“These are the precepts of right,” says Justinian;

“ to live honestly, not to injure another, to render
to each one his own.” Whoever squares his life by
these rules, he is the perfectly honest man, and no
other. He alone reaches the full dignity of man¬
hood and makes out of himself all that the Creator
intended him to be.

YMF/1THY.

HE highest mode of life is not that of the
hermit. Still less is it that of him who
lives in the midst of men, but who seems
unconscious of their existence, except at '
times when he can turn them to his advan
tage. Such a man lives in a cold, deadly
atmosphere which soon kills his higher spiritual
nature. A life of that kind is a corrupt soil which
can bring forth nothing good, but is crowded with
weeds and thistles and thickly strewn with rocks.
If wheat is sown on it the harvest will be nothing
but tares. People are of necessity brought into more
or less close contact by their social and business
life ; and it is fitting that they should live in fellow¬
ship, and have for each other a sympathy, a fellow-
feeling.

The political economists have shown that what
benefits one person in the world of commerce, bene¬
fits all ; that my neighbor’s prosperity is properly a
matter upon which I may congratulate myself. Hence
it is not only uncomfortable to envy others and hate
them on account of their prosperity, but it is foolish.
And it is likewise foolish to rejoice in the troubles

of others, since their ill-fortune concerns us as well

485

486

SYMPATHY.

How utterly uncalled for then is that feeling of
hostility which so many manifest toward others, and
how unwise also is a cold indifference to the weal
or woe of our fellow men !

“ When I look into the frame and constitution of
my own mind,” says Addison, “ there is no part of
it which I observe with greater satisfaction than that
tenderness and concern which it bears for the good
and happiness of mankind. My own circumstances
are, indeed, so narrow and scanty that I should taste
but very little pleasure should I receive it only from
those enjoyments which are in my own possession ;
but by this great tincture of humanity, which I find
in all my thoughts and reflections, I am happier than
any single person can be with all the wealth, strength,
beauty and success that can be conferred upon a
mortal, if he> only relishes such a proportion of these
blessings as vested in himself and in his own private
property. By this means, every man who does him¬
self any real service does me a kindness. I come in
for my share in all the good that happens to a man
of merit and virtue, and partake of many gifts of
fortune and power that I was never born to. There
is nothing in particular in which I so much rejoice
as the deliverance of good and generous spirits out
of dangers, difficulties, and distresses.”

We are much happier by sharing the pleasures
and pains of others, and allowing them to share
ours. It has been well said, that to share a joy with
another person, multiplies it, and that to share a

SYMPATHY.

487

sorrow with another, divides it. Thus the sympathetic
man is doubly the gainer by his sympathy — his joys
are greater, and his sorrows are less.

“ Every man rejoices twice when he has a partner
of his joy,” says Jeremy Taylor; “a friend shares
my sorrow and makes it but a moiety; but he swells
my joy and makes it double. For so two channels
divide the river, and lessen it into rivulets, and make
it fordable, and apt to be drunk up by the first revels
of the Sirian star ; but two torches do not divide,
but increase, the flame : and though my tears are the
sooner dried up when they run on my friend’s cheeks
in the furrows of compassion, yet when my flame
hath kindled his lamp, we unite the glories and make
them radiant, like the golden candlesticks that burn
before the throne of God, because they shine by
numbers, by unions, and confederations of light and
joy. There is a warm, kindly glow about sympathy
which is entirely absent in calculating selfishness, and
than which no feeling is more delightful.”

“Man is dear to man; the poorest poor
Long for some moments in a weary life,

When they can know and feel that they have been
Themselves the fathers and dealers-out
Of some small blessings: have been kind to such
As needed kindness, for the single cause,

Tha* we have all of us one human heart.”

We often do more good by our sympathy than by
our labors, and render to the world a more lasting
service by absence of jealousy and recognition of

488

SYMPATHY.

merit than we could ever render by the straining
efforts of personal ambition. A man may lose posi¬
tion, influence, wealth and even health, and yet live
on in comfort, if he is resigned ; but there is one
thing without which life becomes a burden — that is
human sympathy.

A man who for any cause fails to secure the sym¬
pathy of his fellows, will have a sad journey through
life. No matter how firmly we may believe in the
righteousness of our cause, and how much confidence
we may have in our deserts, if others do not sym¬
pathize with our aims and our work, very much of
the pleasure of our well-doing is lost. Admiration
and awe-struck astonishment will not take the place
of genuine sympathy. During Christ’s ministry he
was constantly attended by great crowds of people
who gathered, some to see his miracles, some to be
healed of their bodily disorders, and others to bring
their afflicted friends before the wondrous physician,
the very hem of whose garment possessed the power
of healing all diseases. But out of these crowds
not one understood his spiritual aims or sympathized
with them, and his life was one of continual sadness,
even before the persecutions of the Rabbis began.
And the biographies of almost all great men will
illustrate the same fact. The lives of nearly all have
been to a greater or less extent embittered by a
lack of sympathy with the ideas and aims which
they regarded as great and vital to the well-being
of humanity.

SYMPATHY.

489

Said Joseph de Maistre, at the end of his life:
“ How few are those whose passage upon this foolish
planet has been marked by actions really good and
useful. I bow myself to the earth before him of
whom it can be said, Per transivit benefaciendo (He
has gone about doing good); who has succeeded in
instructing, consoling, relieving his fellow creatures ;
who has made real sacrifices for the sake of doing
good ; those heroes of silent charity who hide them¬
selves and expect nothing in this world. But what
are the common run of men like? and how many
men are there in a thousand who can ask them¬
selves without terror, ‘ What have I done in this
world? wherein have I advanced the general work?
and what of me do I leave behind for good or for
evil.’ ”

Mr. Collyer tells the following story, which well
illustrates the power of sympathy. “Away off, I
believe in Edinburgh, two gentlemen were standing
at the door of a hotel one very cold day, when a
little boy, with a poor, thin, blue face, his feet bare
and red with cold, and with nothing to cover him
but a bundle of rags, came and said, ‘ Please, sir,
buy some matches.’ ‘No; I don’t want any,’ said
the gentleman. ‘But they’re only a penny a box,’
the little fellow pleaded. ‘Yes; but you see I don’t
want a box.’ ‘Then I’ll gie ye twa boxes for a
penny,’ the boy said at last.” And so, to get rid
of him, the gentleman, who tells the story in an
English paper, says, “ I bought a box, but then I

490

SYMPATHY.

found I had no change, so I said. ‘ I’ll buy a box
to-morrow.’ ‘Oh, do buy them the nicht,’ the boy
pleaded again; ‘I’ll run and get ye the change; for
I’m very hungry.’ So I gave him the shilling, and
he started away. I waited for him, but no boy came.
Then I thought I had lost my shilling ; but still
there was that in the boy’s face I trusted, and I
did not like to think badly of him.

“Well, late in the evening, a servant came and said

a little boy wanted to see me. When he was brought

in, I found it was a smaller brother of the boy who got

my shilling, but, if possible, still more ragged, and

poor, and thin. He stood a moment diving into his

rags as if he were seeking something, and then said,

‘ Are you the gentleman that bought the matches frae

Sandie?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Weel, then, here’s fourpence oot

o’ yer shillin’. Sandie canna come. He’s no weel.

A cart ran ower him, and knocked him doon ; and

•

he lost his bonnet, and his matches, and your eleven¬
pence ; and both his legs are broken, and he’s no weel
at a’, and the doctor says he’ll dee. And that’s a’ he
can gie ye the noo,’ putting fourpence down on the
table ; and then the poor child broke down into great
sobs. So I fed the little man,” the gentleman goes
on to say, “ and then I went with him to see Sandie.

“ I found that the two poor little things lived with
a wretched, drunken step-mother ; their own father
and mother being both dead. I found poor Sandie
lying on a bundle of shavings ; he knew me as soon
as I came in and said, ‘ I got the change, sir, and was

SYMPATHY.

49 1

coming back ; and then the horse knocked me down,
and both my legs are broken. And Reuby, little
Reuby ! I am sure I am deem’ ! and who will take
care o’ ye, Reuby, when I am gane ? What will ye
do, Reuby?’ Then I took the poor little sufferer’s
hand, and told him I would always take care of Reuby.
He understood me, and had just strength to look at
me as if he would thank me ; then the light went out
of his blue eyes, and in a moment

‘ He lay within the light of God,

Like a babe upon the breast;

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.’ ”

We must not make too much of sympathy, as
mere feeling. We do in things spiritual as we do
with hot-house plants. The feeble exotic, beautiful
to look at, but useless, has costly sums spent on it.
The hardy oak, a nation’s strength, is permitted to
grow, scarcely observed, in the fence and copses.
We prize feeling, and prize its possessor. But feeling
is only a sickly exotic in itself — a passive quality,
having in it nothing moral — no temptation, and no
victory. A man is no more a good man for having
feeling than he is for having a delicate ear for music,
or a far-seeing optic nerve. The Son of Man had
feeling; he could be touched. The tear would start
from His eyes at the sight of human sorrow. But
that sympathy was no exotic in his soul, beautiful to
look at, too delicate for use. Feeling with Him led

49 2

SYMPATHY.

to action : “He went about doing good.” Sympathy

*

with Him was this: “Grace to help in time of need.”

The life of John Howard, the prison reformer,
furnishes a good example of the practical working of
sympathy. His attention having been attracted to
the miserable condition of convicts throughout Europe,
he spent several years in traveling about from one
town to another, from one country to another, visit¬
ing prisons and relieving the inmates in various ways.
At Gloucester (in England) he found the castle in
the most horrible condition. The castle had become
the jail. It had a common court for all the prisoners,
male and female. The debtor’s ward had no windows.
The night room for male felons was close and dark.
A fever had prevailed in the jail, which carried off
many of the prisoners. The keeper had no salary.
The debtors had no allowance of food. In the Epis¬
copal city of Ely the accommodation was no better.
To prevent the prisoners’ escape they were chained
on their backs to the floor. Several bars of iron were
placed over them, and an iron collar covered with
spikes was fastened round their necks. At Norwich,
the cells were built under ground, and the prisoners
were given an allowance of straw, which cost a guinea
a year. The jailor not only had no salary, but he
paid forty pounds a year to the under-sheriff for his
situation ! He made his income by extortion. Howard
wrote a book on “The State of Prisons,” testified
before a parliamentary committee, and in various
other ways attracted public attention to the subject.

SYMPATHY.

493

His labors resulted in many changes of laws which
very much improved the condition of the prisoners.
In the course of twelve years he had traveled forty-
two thousand miles, and had expended a hundred
and fifty thousand dollars in his work of humanity.
He visited all Europe to dive intor the depths of
dungeons ; to plunge into the infection of hospitals ;
to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain, to take
the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression and
contempt ; to remember the forgotten ; to attend the
neglected ; to visit the forsaken ; to compare and
collect the distresses of all men in all countries. His
plan is original, and it is as full of genius as it is of
humanity. It is a voyage of discovery, a circum¬
navigation of charity ; and already the benefit of his
labor is felt more or less in every country.

Florence Nightingale, the good “Lady with the
Lamp,” to whom so many soldiers owe their lives,
was another practical sympathizer. Mrs. Chisholm,
also, who devoted her life to helping poor young
women in England, to migrate to Australia and other
places where they might find good homes and be free
from the dangers that, in all wealthy and populous
countries, surround young women destitute of money
and protecting friends.

Thomas Wright was a foundry-hand in Manchester,
receiving only about seventeen dollars a week. His
sympathies were aroused in behalf of prisoners whose
terms of punishment had expired, and who were now
seeking employment that they might live honest lives,

494

SYMPATHY.

but who, being looked upon with suspicion, failed to
find work, and were compelled to return to a life of
crime. He made it the business of his life to assist
such ; and often, when he could not otherwise obtain
employment for them, he pledged himself as security
for their honesty. Others were aided by him in going
to foreign countries, where they might begin anew,
and be free from the shadow of their crime. In this
way he succeeded in reforming a great many men and
making useful and honorable citizens of them. The
following is only one case of the many : A man
who had been undergoing penal servitude at Portland,
was discharged, and repaired to Manchester with a
ticket-of-leave and a letter from the chaplain to
Thomas Wright. Employment was found for him as
a scavenger. Mr. Wright had him promoted to be
a mender of roads ; and here also his conduct was
approved. He obtained admission for him to the
late Canon Stowell’s Sunday and week-day night
schools, in both of which he became a teacher. He
showed so much capacity for learning that Canon
Stowell felt a great interest in him. The canon was
made acquainted with his antecedents. Nevertheless,
he made arrangements for “reading” with him, and
in due time the Portland convict was ordained a
clergyman.

i

One man who had been assisted by Wright to
emigrate to America, and had prospered in honorable
life, wrote back to his benefactor, enclosing a contri¬
bution for a reformatory institution and saying :

SYMPATHY.

495

“To your never-to-be-forgotten fatherly aid I owe all
my success. You were indeed my best, my kindest,
and my sole advising friend on this earth. You res¬
cued me from a life of vice by your own unaided
help. When all others had turned their faces away
from me as a miscreant and a vagabond, you, like the
prodigal’s father of old, welcomed me back to the paths
of virtue and integrity of life, consoling my youthful
heart with the hope of brighter days yet in store, and
blending your fatherly counsel with a still purer hope
beyond the grave. God bless you, dear father ! God
bless you for all your kindness ! Tears of kind remem¬
brances fall from my cheeks as I think upon all your
noble efforts for your poor fellow-men.” It was sym¬
pathy that moved these, and it is sympathy that origi¬
nates every deed of philanthropy, every attempt to
better the condition of the poor, or the degraded.

There is nothing like the balm of a sympathizing
soul, when one comes to us. There are some ears
that hunger for sympathizing words ; there are others
that, while deaf to these words, are not insensible to
presence. To hold your peace in the shadow of
another’s grief is oftentimes more balm and consola¬
tion than anything else you can do. When a man
is in trouble, and it seems as though the world is
sweeping away from him, go and stand by his side,
and he will never forget that — not if he is gener¬
ous. If anybody has stood by you in a crisis, and
faced the world with you and for you, the memorial
in your heart ought to be as deep and strong as life

496 SYMPATHY.

itself, and forever. When a man has come to bank¬
ruptcy, and suspicion, and trouble, and shame, that
is the time for friendship, and that is the place for
friendship to show what sympathy can do — what
strength it can give, what despair it can drive away,
what elevation and inspiration it can rekindle in
men’s hearts. Ah ! when the heart has been bruised
through and through, there is no poultice like another
heart put right on it, and held there. When men
have been lost to virtue, have thrown away their
chances, and life itself is a drug, it is very seldom
that you will reclaim such persons by penal institu¬
tions. Yet a man may be brought out from the
valley and shadow of death, and brought back to
virtue from all defiling crimes, if only there is some¬
body that will make atonement for him ; somebody
that will see him daily ; somebody that, when he has
fallen again contrary to all promises, will not be dis¬
couraged ; somebody that will supply his pressing
wants ; somebody that will say to him, “ I have
more hope for you than you have”; somebody that
will not let him go ; somebody that will even say to
him, “ Though you go down at last through the
gates of death in darkness, I will not leave you,
nor forsake you, till the very last gasp ; you shall
be reformed ; I will bear you up and out.” Oh !
how many would be brought back if there were only
somebody to take them, to love them, to be. com¬
passionate with them, to be patient with them all
the time, and to lead them ! It must be a desperate

SYMPATHY. 497

case in which a living, loving heart is not medicine
enough for the diseases of a vicious life.

Although we cannot love their weakness, yet we
must love the weak, and bear with their infirmities
and their misfortunes, not breaking the bruised reed.
Infants must not be turned out of the family because
they cry, and are unquiet and troublesome ;* though
they be peevish and forward, yet we must bear it
with gentleness and patience, as we do the forward¬
ness of the sick ; if they revile we must not revile
again, but must seek gently to restore them, not¬
withstanding their censures.

This patience is far too rare. We do not make
allowances enough for our fellows, but sweepingly
condemn those whom we ought to cheer with our
sympathy. If we are out of temper ourselves we
plead the weather, or a headache, or our natural
temperament, or aggravating circumstances ; we are
never at a loss for an excuse for ourselves ; why
should not the same ingenuity be used by our charity
in inventing apologies and extenuations for others?
It is a pity to carry on the trade of apology-making
entirely for home consumption ; let us supply others.
True, they are very provoking, but if we suffered
half as much as our irritable friends have to endure,
we should perhaps be even more aggravated.

But there is one danger in a feeling of fellowship
which must not be lost to view. Our love for another,
or our sympathy for his weakness, must never lead
us for one moment into tolerating a fault itself. Love

32

498

SYMPATHY.

and forgive always but never give • companionship
in any evil act to prove the sincerety of your for¬
giveness. When cripples laugh at us for walking
upright, we simply pity their folly, and if they become
our companions, would it be sensible for us to hobble
our limbs that we be obliged to walk as they do ?

Let us cherish sympathy. By attention and exer¬
cise it may be improved in every man. It prepares
the mind for receiving the impressions of virtue ; and
without it there can be no true politeness. Nothing
is more odious than that insensibility which wraps
a man up in himself and his own concerns, and pre¬
vents his being moved with either the joys or sorrows
of another.

9

“Sympathy glories humanity.” Its synonym is
love. It goes forth to meet the wants and necessities
of the sorrow-stricken and oppressed. Wherever
there is cruelty, or ignorance, or misery, sympathy
stretches forth its hand to console and alleviate. The
sight of grief, the sound of a groan, takes hold of
the sympathetic mind, and will not let it go. Out
of sympathy and justice, some of the greatest events
of modern times have emanated. The abolition of
slavery in England, America and France; the educa¬
tion of the untaught ; the spread of Sunday-schools ;
the efforts for the spread of temperance ; the improv-
ment of low, degraded, or suffering humanity every¬
where, which in the olden times received very little
attention ; these are some of the high and holy
results of human sympathy.

'-o-' 7gg7

■ Z-ZJ^r ■ -sVcv-

9

T seems scarcely possible for a person to
receive a favor from another and not have
at least some feeling of thankfulness. It
is one of the most painful forms of dis¬
ordered Sensibility — the insanity, not of
the Intellect, but of the feeling — which
shows itself in the entire indifference and
apathy with which the kindest attentions
are received, or even worse, the ill con¬
cealed and hardly suppressed hatred which
is felt even for the generous benefactor.

The lack of gratitude for a kindness
arises in the mind in the following manner :
Suppose a man is dishonest enough to
avoid paying his debts in every way that he can.
Such a man dislikes to see the person to whom
he owes a debt, and soon learns to almost hate his
creditors. He even studies them to find in their lives
some bad feature, so he may have a show of an
excuse for his ill-will. Evidences of this feeling are
too often seen. The man of such a mind would
never do any one a kindness of any consequence
unless quite sure of a full repayment, and it is

impossible for him to believe that anyone else could

499

500

GRATITUDE.

give a favor when none is expected in return. His

soul is too mean to understand the true nature of

\

kindness. He greedily accepts all the good he can
get, and then, thinking that his benefactor is expect¬
ing payment, or at least a continued feeling of obli¬
gation on his part, his pitiful little heart begins to
shun the very man who befriended him.

It is, indeed, one of the saddest mistakes which the
human Sensibilities can make, for nothing will bind
our friends closer to us in genuine sympathy than
the thankful acceptance of a well-meant kindness
offered us ; and to owe a debt of gratitude, instead
of at all lessening our independence of mind, really
strengthens our character and sweetens the heart.
The truly good and great are never guilty of this
grave error.

“Ingratitude is always a sort of weakness. I have
never known that men of consequence were ungrate¬
ful,” says Goethe.

Duties are reciprocal. If I owe you a duty, you
owe me one in return. If you are in distress, it is my
duty to help you to the extent of my ability, and on
the other hand, having helped you, you owe me a debt
of gratitude, which you should .discharge upon every
opportunity. The mere formal “thank you,” though
certainly it and other like courtesies should not be
neglected, is not enough. You ought to do me a
substantial service the first time it is in your power
to do so, not to pay for my service to you, but merely
as evidence of your true gratitude. This is a delicate

GRATITUDE.

501

matter. I have no claim upon you. If I do you good
in the hope of receiving something from you, I am
no longer doing it as a kindness, but as a speculation ;
and gratitude does not play any part in the transaction.
But the fact that I cannot claim anything, does not
release you from the obligation to return my favor.
No rules can be laid down in this matter; it must be
governed entirely by a healthy and enlightened moral
sense. A consciousness of rule and of well defined
obligation would crush all the life out of both charity
and gratitude.

Nothing can be more beautiful than a constant and
unselfish interchange of favors between persons who
are brought into connection with each other in any
way. Especially ought members of the same family
to keep up this practice. It will infuse into the do¬
mestic life a degree of warmth and pleasantness that
cannot be obtained in any other way. It is a sovereign
panacea against the quarrels and bickerings that mar
the happiness of so many families and blight the
characters and prospects of so many young people.

COURTESY.

FALSE PRIDE AND INSOLENCE.

S we desire to be treated decently and with
respect by others, it is our duty to treat
them in the same way. We have no right
to bruise their feelings by adopting toward
them a harsh, contemptuous, or careless
manner.

And our duty in this matter does not
depend upon the person. Men are not,
in most respects, born free and equal. A
has more brains than B ; and C’s morals
are better than those of D, while, perhaps, E

is superiqr to each of them in all respects. They
are not alike, then ; there is an infinite diversity

of natural and acquired gifts ; in infinitely different
degrees are men worthy of our esteem and admiration.
But in one thing, they stand upon a footing of abso¬
lute equality — they have equal claim to kind and
considerate treatment at our hands. The ignorant
black laborer who does the menial work about your
house, the person who serves you in any way, and
the beggar who seeks alms at your door, are just as

much entitled to gentle words, a patient hearing, and

502

COURTESY.

503

forbearance with their defects, as a college president
or a United States senator would be; and it is even
more blame to your character, as a gentleman or lady,
to refuse these little marks of attention to your
inferiors than it would be to refuse them to your
equals or superiors. “As the sword of the best-
tempered metal is the most flexible,” says Fuller, “so
the truly generous are most pliant and courteous in
their behavior to their inferiors.”

A number of false notions prevail concerning court¬
esy, as well as other forms of beauty. One of these
notions is, that roughness necessarily accompanies
strength. It does not. It is the imperfectly made
and badly cared-for engine that squeaks and jars ;
the mightiest ones, those that propel enormous masses
of machinery, are smooth and noiseless in their mo¬
tions. Perfect steel is smooth as glass ; when the
rust begins to eat into and destroy it, it gets rough.
The polished granite column is not less strong than
the rough and ragged granite rock upon the mount¬
ain side. A will as hard and solid as adamant may
lie behind a soft and pleasant word, yet always be
there when needed. The hand of steel may wear a
velvet glove. Those who have read the autobiog¬
raphy of David Crockett, will remember the incident
of the Texas bee-hunter, the bravest man in all that
wild western country during the turbulent times of
the Texan revolution, and who was yet as mild and
gentle as a maiden in love. Was Chevalier Bayard
any the less a knight “sans peur” because he was

504

COURTESY.

also a knight “sans reproche ” ?* Did Sir Philip Sid¬
ney fight any the less bravely at the battle of Zutphen
because he was the pattern of all chivalric gentleness
and courtesy? Did the famous regiment of New York
thugs and shoulder-hitters in our civil war distinguish
itself for valor and strength above the regiments of
mild-mannered gentlemen ?

“Ill seems (said he) if he so valiant be,

That he should be so stern to stranger wight ;

For seldom yet did living creatures see

That courtesy and manhood ever disagree.” — Spenser.

Pride and egotism are very good things. “ All
men are egotists,” says Goethe in his “ Gross-Coptha ” ;
u only a novice, only a fool can wish to change them.
Only one who does not know himself, will deny that
it is even so in his own heart.” The man who is
not proud, and, in one sense, egotistical, is very
much to be pitied ; he will never accomplish anything
of value. The world owes more than figures will
count to its egotists, past and present. But egotism
is like any other good thing in that when it passes
its proper boundaries, it becomes an evil. The Miss¬
issippi river benefits the country through which it
passes more than any other stream ; still, in times of
high water, when it overflows its banks and carries
death and devastation through wide stretches of pop¬
ulous territory, it is about as harmful a thing as could
well be imagined. The bank which marks the proper

*ilSans pair et sans reproche ” (without fear and without reproach), a
phrase applied by somebody to Chevalier Bayard.

COURTESY.

505

extension of pride and egotism is the point where-,
by going farther they would begin to encroach upon
the rights, dignities, or sentiments, or feelings of
other people. Thus far they should go, but no'
farther. A person who is puffed up with unreason¬
able pride, and is haughty and supercilious in his-
relations with others, is as contemptible on the one
hand, as a person who has no mind of his own, but
vacillates weakly from one opinion to another, from
one counsel to another, is, on the other hand, pitiable.

But not only is this negative duty of abstaining
from evil imposed upon us ; we have also a cor¬
responding positive duty to perform. There are a
hundred occasions every day in the life of each of
us, where the spirit of courtesy may properly be
exhibited. Opportunities for great deeds of kind¬
ness do not often occur, but we need not wait for
them. Great deeds make but a small part of the
wonderful sum of existence. It is the little acts,
unostentatiously performed, that so much sweeten
our lives — the giving of a draught of fresh water,
the proffer of an easy chair, the present of a bouquet
of flowers, the soothing word and glance of sympathy
in time of sorrow, the graceful sign of appreciation,
all these and thousands more like them, increase-
human happiness many-fold.

A catholic love of humanity, and a genuine respect
for its rights, is the only sound basis for good manners.
A tender and pure regard for woman, added to this
among men, furnishes all the spring and impulse

5°6

COURTESY.

necessary for the best and finest forms of polite¬
ness. It is not necessary to go to the Latin peoples,
with their traditions of art and their aesthetic culture ;
it is not necessary to see countries where classics
are recognized and manners take the form and are
shaped to the arbitrary rules of etiquette ; it is not
necessary to study manuals of social usage, or sit
at the feet of Mr. Turveydrop, in order to learn

good manners, provided a man thoroughly respect

his fellow, and find himself possessed of that senti¬

ment toward woman which makes her his ideal and
idol. Without this respect and this love, there is

nothing more hollow and worthless than fine man-
ners. They become, in this case, simply the disguise
of an egotist, more or less base and contemptible.

Everything that is called fashion and courtesy,
humbles itself before the cause and fountain of honor,
the creator of titles and dignities, namely, the heart
of love. This is the royal blood, this the fire, which,
in all countries and contingencies, will work after its
kind and conquer and expand all that approaches
it. This gives new meanings to every fact. This
impoverishes the rich, suffering no grandeur but its
own. What is rich ? Are you rich enough to help
anybody? to succor the unfashionable and the eccen¬
tric ? rich enough to make the Canadian in his wagon,
the itinerant with his consul’s paper which commends
him “To the charitable,” the swarthy Italian with his
few broken words of English, the lame pauper hunted
by overseers from town to town, even the poor insane

COURTESY.

507

or besotted wreck of man or woman, feel the noble
•exception of your presence and your house from the
general bleakness and stoniness ; to make such feel
that they were greeted with a voice which made
them both remember and hope ? What is vulgar but
to refuse the claim on acute and conclusive reasons ?
What is gentle, but to allow it, and give their heart
and yours one holiday from the national caution ?
W ithout the rich heart, wealth is an ugly beggar.
1 he King of Schiraz could not afford to be so bounti¬
ful as the poor Osman who dwelt at his gate. Osman
had a humanity so broad and deep that although
his speech was so bold and free with the Koran as
to disgust all the dervishes, yet was there never a
poor outcast, eccentric, or insane man, some fool who
had cut off his beard, or who had been mutilated
under a vow, or had a pet madness in his brain, but
fled at once to him ; that great heart lay there so
sunny and hospitable in the center of the country,
that it seemed as if the instinct of all sufferers drew
them to his side. And the madness which he har¬
bored he did not share. Is not this to be rich ? this
only to be rightly rich ?

49

The truest politeness comes of sincerity. It must
be the outcome of the heart, or it will make no lasting
impression ; for no amount of polish can dispense with
truthfulness. The natural character must be allowed
to appear freed of its singularities and asperities.
Though politeness, in its best form, should, as Saint
Francis de Sales says, resemble water — “best when

5°8

COURTESY.

clearest, most simple, and without taste” — yet genius
in a man will always cover many defects of manner,
and much will be excused in the strong and original.
Without genuineness and individuality, human life
would lose much of its interest and variety, as well
as its manliness and robustness of character. “In
all the superior people I have met,” says Emerson,
“ I notice directness, truth spoken more truly, as if
everything of obstruction, of malformation, had been
trained away. What have they to conceal?”

It is always a mark of gentleness to refrain from
complaints about the insufficiency of accommodations
furnished, or favors of any kind shown us, by others.
It is related of the monk Basle, that, being excom¬
municated by the Pope, he was, at his death, sent
in charge of an angel to find a fit place of suffering
in hell ; but such was the eloquence and good humor
of the monk, that wherever he went he was received
gladly, and civilly treated even by the most uncivil
angels ; and when he came to discourse with them,
instead of contradicting or forcing him, they took
his part and adopted his manners ; and even good
angels came from far to see him, and take up their
abode with him. The angel that was sent to find
a place of torment for him attempted to remove him
to a worse pit, but with no better success ; for such
was the contented spirit of the monk that he found
something to praise in every place and company,
though in hell, and made a kind of heaven of it.
At last the escorting angel returned with his pris-

COURTESY.

509

oner to those that sent him, saying that no phlege-
thon could be found that would burn him ; for that
in whatever condition, Basle remained the same court¬
eous good-humored Basle. The legend says his
sentence was remitted, and he was allowed to go
into heaven, and was canonized as a saint.

Politeness.

There is no policy like politeness ; and a good
manner is the best thing in the world, either to get
one a good name or to supply the want of it.

Manners are of more importance than laws. Upon
them, in a great measure, the laws depend. The law
touches us but here and there, and now and then.
Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify,
exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant,
steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the
air we breathe in. They give their whole form and

color to our lives. According to their quality, they

*

aid morals, they supply them, or they totally destroy
them. A person could better eat with one who did
not respect the truth or the laws, than with a sloven
and unpresentable person. Moral qualities rule the
world, but at short distances the senses are despotic.
The manner of saying or of doing anything goes a
great way in the value of the thing itself, says Seneca.
It was well said that a favor that was done harshly
and with an ill-will, is a stony piece of bread : it is

POLITENESS.

510

necessary for him that is hungry to receive it, but it
almost chokes a man in the going clown.

The power of manners is incessant, — an element
as unconcealable as fire. The nobility cannot in any
country be disguised, and no more in a republic or
democracy than in a kingdom. No man can resist
their influence. There are certain manners which are
learned in good society, of that force that if a person
have them, he or she must be considered, and is every¬
where welcome, though without beauty, or wealth,
or genius. Give a boy address and accomplishments
and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes
wherever he goes. When we reflect on their persua¬
sive and cheering force ; how they recommend, prepare
and draw people together ; how in all clubs, manners
make the members ; how manners make the fortune
of the ambitious youth ; that for the most part, his
manners marry him, and, for the most part, he marries
manners ; when we think what keys they are, and
to what secrets ; what high lessons and inspiring
tokens of character they convey, and what divination
is required in us for the reading of this fine telegraph,
we see what range the subject has, and what relations
to convenience, power and beauty.

“In the year 1821,” says one gentleman, “I made,
in London, in a spirit of wager, a very decisive and
satisfactory experiment as to the effect of ‘civil and
courteous manners on people of various ranks and
dispositions. There were in the place a number of
young Americans, who frequently complained to me

POLITENESS.

5”

of the neglect and rudeness experienced by them from
citizens to whom they spoke in the streets. They
asserted, in particular, that, as often as they requested
directions to any point in the city, toward which they
were proceeding, they either received an uncivil and
evasive answer, or no answer at all. I told them
that my experience on the same subject had been
exceedingly different ; that I had never failed to
receive a civil reply to my questions — often commu¬
nicating the information requested ; and that I could
not help suspecting that their failure to receive similar
replies arose, in part at least, if not entirely, from the
plainness, not to say bluntness, of their manner in
making their inquiries. The correctness of this
charge, however, they sturdily denied, asserting that
their manner of asking for information was good
enough for those to whom they addressed themselves.
Unable to convince them by words of the truth of
my suspicions, I proposed to them the following simple
and conclusive experiment : Let us take together a
walk of two or three hours in some of the public
streets of the city. You shall yourselves designate to
me the persons to whom I shall propose questions,
and the subjects also to which the questions shall
relate ; and the only restriction imposed is> that no
question shall be proposed to any one who shall
appear to be greatly hurried, agitated, distressed, or
in any other way deeply preoccupied in mind or body,
and no one shall speak to the person questioned but
myself. My proposition being accepted, out we sallied.

POLITENESS.

and to work we went : and I continued my experiment
until my young friends surrendered at discretion,
frankly acknowledging that my opinion was right,
and theirs, of course, was wrong ; and that, in our
passage through life, courtesy of address and deport¬
ment may be made both a pleasant and powerful
means to attain our ends and gratify our wishes.

“ I put questions to more than twenty persons
of every rank, from the high bred gentleman to the
servant in livery, and received, in each instance, a
•courteous, and in most instances, a satisfactory reply.
If the information asked for was not imparted, the
individual addressed gave an assurance of his regret
at being unable to communicate it. What seemed
most to surprise my friends was, that the individual
accosted by me almost uniformly imitated my own
manner. If I uncovered my head, as I usually did
in speaking to a man of ordinary appearance and
breeding, he did the same in his reply ; and when
I touched my hat to a liveried coachman or waiting-
man, his hat was immediately under his arm.” So
much may be done, and such advantages gained, by
.simply avoiding coarseness and vulgarity, and being

well-bred and agreeable. Nor can the case be other-

*

wise. For the foundation of good breeding is good
nature and good sense, two of the most useful and
indispensable attributes of a well-constituted mind.
Let it not be forgotten, however, that good breed¬
ing is not to be regarded as identical with polite¬
ness ; a mistake which is too frequently, if not gen-

POLITENESS.

5 x3

erally, committed. A person may be exceedingly
polite without the much higher and more valuable
accomplishment of good-breeding.

He who possesses, naturally or as an acquirement,
this warm-hearted kindness of disposition is by it
rendered dear to all with whom he has to do His
courtesy is repaid by courtesy ; his consideration for
others breeds consideration for him, his pleasant
words are received by pleasant words, his cheerful
smile mirrors itself in the laughing eyes of his
neighbor ; his whole life moves along with ten-fold

V

less friction than that of the unsympathetic, or the
discourteous man.

The essence of politeness is contained in the

golden rule which bids us do unto others as we
would that they should do unto us. Whatever treat¬
ment we can conceive of as likely to be unpleasant
to us if we were the objects of it, let us avoid in
all our intercourse with others. If we should not

like to be maliciously slandered, let us not slander

others, for their good name is as dear to them as
ours is to us. If we should not like to be dis¬

honestly dealt with, then let us not be dishonest
toward others. If we find it disagreeable to be with
persons who are continually complaining about this,
that, or the other ache, pain, or inconvenience, by
all means let us refrain from inflicting others with
our woes. If we are not entertained by a recital
of our companion’s domestic affairs, let us remember

that our history is not a whit less a bore to him.

33

514 POLITENESS.

If we do not enjoy an encounter with a boor, let
us not be boorish with others. If, when traveling,
we find it disagreeable to be compelled to stand,
while someone else occupies a seat for himself and
a seat for his luggage, let us not be guilty of a like
selfish impropriety.

Moreover, the little marks of formal politeness
prescribed by the usage of good society, ought not
to be neglected. They are insignificant in them¬
selves, but as tokens of respect, and evidences of
good breeding, they are invaluable.

Manners are the shadows of virtues ; the momen¬
tary display of those qualities which our fellow-creat¬
ures love and respect. If we strive to become, then,
what we strive to appear, manners may often be
rendered useful guides to the performance of our
duties. It is stated that when Bismarck was young,
he had a habit of speaking somewhat lightly of the
king, calling him “Fritz.” His father reprimanded
him for this, and counseled him always to speak of
his king with the utmost reverence, as in this way
he would grow into a real feeling of reverence. This
advice, it is said, he follows to this day. It is so
with all of us in our intercourse with other people.
If we accustom ourselves to speak politely, respect¬
fully, and kindly to every one, we shall, after a while,
find that we have unconsciously imbibed a sentiment
of genuine respect and kindliness for our fellow-men
which will be of boundless advantage to us in many
ways.

Truthfulness.

HE Athenians had a very high regard for
truth. When Euripides, one of their
favorite poets, presented his drama, “ Hip-
polytus,” to the public, he met a storm of
opposition, on account of a well-known line
in the piece :

“My tongue took an oath, but my mind is unsworn.”

\ .

This attack upon the sacredness of oaths
was so distasteful to them, that Socrates, though he
was an intimate friend of Euripides, left the assembly
in indignation, and the dramatist was publicly accused
and tried for impiety.

Truthfulness is a requirement in all religions. A
Spanish proverb calls truth God’s daughter. “ Of all
duties,” says Silvio Pellico, “the love of truth, with
faith and constancy in it, ranks first and highest.
Truth is God. To love God and to love truth are
one and the same.” “Nothing is beautiful but truth,
and truth alone is lovely,” says Boileau. There is
planted in us an admiration of truth and of the person
who tells it, and a corresponding dislike of lies and
liars. Truth seems to be manly and brave, while a
lie is a cowardly sneak.

515

TRUTHFULNESS.

516

But though the general duty to follow the truth
is thus agreed upon by everybody, there is no subject
more discussed in its applications. One branch of
this discussion is upon the question : Is it ever right
to tell an untruth?

®ay We Iver Falsify ?

An opinion which is quite common is that in cases
where much good (unselfish good) can be accom¬
plished by the falsehood, or much evil avoided by it,
we may rightly make use of it. Thus, we may deceive
a lunatic for the purpose of getting him to the asylum,
or a criminal in order to prevent him from committing
a crime, or to gain evidence against him after the
crime is already committed ; or we may falsify to a
rash, headstrong person, to keep him from running
into danger ; or diplomats and soldiers may deceive
for the good of the country they serve.

Rousseau has discussed the question at some
length in his book, “ Reveries du Promeneur Soli¬
taire.” Says he : “ General and abstract truth is the
most precious of all our goods^ Without it man is
blind ; it is the eye of reason. By it man learns
how to conduct himself, to be what he ought to be,
to do what he ought to do, to tend toward his true
end. Particular and individual truth is not always
a good, it is sometimes an evil, very often an indif¬
ferent thing. The things which it is important to
a man that he should know, and the knowledge of

o

MAY WE EVER FALSIFY. 517

which is necessary to his well-being, are not very
numerous, but in whatever number they may be,
they are a good which belongs to him, which he
has a right to reclaim wherever he finds them, and
of which one cannot deprive him without committing
the most iniquitous of all robberies, because it is one
of those goods common to all, the communication
of which is no deprivation to him who gives it”;
and: “To attribute falsely, to one’s self or another,
an act which can result in praise or blame, is to
do an unjust thing ; now, everything that, contrary to
truth, wounds justice in any manner whatever, is a
lie. There is the exact limit ; but anything that, con¬
trary to truth, does not interest justice in any way,
is only fiction, and I confess that whoever reproaches
himself with a pure fiction as a lie, has a conscience
more delicate than mine.” The conclusion he finally
reaches is that it is indifferent whether we tell truth
or untruth in matters of no consequence, as the
story part of a novel, for instance, but that in all
things of any importance whatever, the absolute
truth must be told, regardless of the effect it may
have. The moral of a novel must always be strictly
pure and true.

Ruskin’s ideas on the subject are more rigid.
Here is what he says about it: “There are some
faults slight in the sight of love, some errors slight
in the estimate of wisdom ; but truth forgives no
insult, and endures no stain. We do not enough
consider this; nor enough dread the slight and con-

5i8

TRUTHFULNESS.

tinual occasions of offense against her. We are
too much in the habit of looking at falsehood in
its darkest associations, and through the color of its
worst purposes. That indignation which we profess
to feel at deceit absolute, is indeed only at deceit
malicious. We resent calumny, hypocrisy, and treach¬
ery, because they harm us, not because they are

untrue. Take the detraction and the mischief from
the untruth, and we are little offended by it ; turn
it into praise, and we may be pleased with it. And
yet it is not calumny nor treachery that does the

largest sum of mischief in the world ; they are con¬
tinually crushed, and are felt only in being conquered.
But it is the glistening and softly spoken lie, the
amiable fallacy, the patriotic lie of the historian,
the provident lie of the politician, the zealous lie
of the partisan, the merciful lie of the friend, and
the careless lie of each man to himself, that cast

a black mystery over humanity. We thank any
man who pierces this dark cloud as we would thank
one who dug a well in a desert ; happy that the

thirst for truth still remains with us, even when we
have wilfully left the fountains of it. It would be
well if moralists less frequently confused the great¬
ness of a sin with its unpardonableness. The two
characters are altogether distinct. The greatness of
a fault depends partly on the nature of the person
against whom it is committed, partly upon the extent
of its consequences. Its pardonableness depends,
humanly speaking, on the degree of temptation to

MAY WE EVER FALSIFY. 5 1 9

it. One class of circumstances determines the weight
of die attaching punishment ; the other, the claim
to remission of punishment : and since it is not
always easy for men to estimate the relative weight,
nor always possible for them to know the relative
consequences, of crime, it is usually wise for them
to quit the care of such nice distinctions, and to
look to the other and clearer condition of right or
wrong. We should esteem those faults worst which
are committed under least temptation. I do not
mean to diminish the blame of the injurious and
malicious sin of the selfish and deliberate falsity ;
yet it seems to me that the shortest way to check
the darker forms of deceit is to set a watch more
scrupulous against those which have mingled, unre¬
garded and unchastised, with the current of our life.
Do not let us lie at all. Do not think of one falsity
as harmless, and another as slight, and another as
unintended. Cast them all aside ; they may be light
and accidental ; but they are an ugly soot from the
smoke of the pit, for all that ; and it is better that
our hearts should be swept clean of them, without
overcare as to which is largest or blackest. Speaking
truth is like writing fair, and comes only by practice ;
it is less a matter of will than of habit, and I doubt
if any occasion can be trivial which permits the prac¬
tice and formation of such a habit.”

But whatever opinion may be entertained of this
(and it is a question which every one ought to settle
for himself, and then act upon his conclusion), I think

/

520

I

TRUTHFULNESS.

it will be granted by most readers that the truth need
not always be told. We are obliged by the principles
of right to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth ;
but certainly there are many times when we should
not tell the whole truth. There are cases where we
have the right to be silent. “ Falsehood and delusion
are allowed in no case whatever, but, as in the exercise
of all the virtues, there is an economy of truth. It
is a sort of temperance by which a man speaks truth
with measure, that he may speak it the longer.”

It is not always necessary to feed one’s companions
on unpalatable truths. Nothing is more silly than the
pleasure some people take in “speaking their minds.”
A man of this make will say a rude thing for the mere
pleasure of saying it, when an opposite behavior, full
as innocent, might have preserved his friend or made
his fortune. The rule is plain and simple. If we
cannot speak well of an acquaintance or friend, let us
keep silent. If we cannot say something calculated
to cheer, gladden, and delight, let us at least not

pursue a contrary course. Our duty is to afford as

much pleasure, and to produce as much good, as we
can in the world ; and if our means, with reference

to these subjects, be limited, we should at least

endeavor to restrain the evil propensities of our
nature, to curb and control the demons of scandal.

EVIL SPEAKING.

521

jealousy, ill-will, and all uncharitableness. We all have
infirmities and failings enough. We all require the
exercise of generosity and forbearance. Our imper¬
fections, though invisible to ourselves, may be quite
glaring to others. When, therefore, we indulge a
spirit of generous and charitable forbearance in rela¬
tion to the errors of the rest of the world, we, in
some degree, at least, entitle ourselves to a similar
judgment with reference to our own. Nothing is
ever lost by kindness and charity. No heart is
pained, no sensibility is wounded, by words of court¬
esy, benevolence, and good breeding ; while a rash
word, a violent expression, a hasty or an unhappy
remark, may inflict a keen pang, may cause a wound
that will fester and rankle for years.

The self-constituted censor of his neighbor’s doings
is a universal plague. He is ubiquitous, living in
every neighborhood. He is comparatively a harmless
creature, though he does do damage, but he is a very
disagreeable one. He wrongs others to some extent,
but he wrongs himself more ; for he is be-littleing
himself instead of making his nature larger, stronger,
and finer. He is training himself badly, for fault¬
finding is a very “school for slander.”

Because our neighbor has committed some foolish
act which would render him ridiculous in the eyes of
all who might know of it, or because he has been
guilty of some piccadillo or other, is no reason why
we should go about telling it, even though we do
not in the slightest degree pass the boundaries of

522

TRUTHFULNESS.

truth in our version of the affair. We have no right
to injure anybody’s good name without cause. His
good name is his most precious possession, worth more
to him than all the wealth of the western mines could
be. The thought that we ourselves are not free from
sinful and ridiculous traits of character, ought to
make us very tolerant of others, and charitable in
dealing with their faults.

There is, however, one case in which we ought
to be as bold and decided in telling the evil that we
know of a man, as we ought generally to be con¬
siderate in keeping it to ourselves ; that is when he
is trying to impose upon the world or upon any indi¬
vidual. If we knew that a man were seeking an
opportunity to injure or defraud another, it would be
our duty without doubt or hesitation to expose his
plans and put the party in danger upon his guard.
Again, if a man whom we knew to be habitually dis¬
honest, or otherwise unworthy of trust, were seeking
an office, in the integrity of whose occupant the public
is obliged to confide, unquestionably we should be
guilty of neglect of duty if we did not communicate
to the public the facts in our possession. Truth is
violated by falsehood, and it may be equally outraged
by silence. “He who conceals a useful truth,” says
Augustine, “ is equally guilty with the propagator of
an injurious falsehood.”

Further than this we need never go. There are
few things which cause more trouble in the world
than the gossip and slander of meddlesome people.

EVIL SPEAKING.

523

No community is free from these nuisances. They
are the foulest harpies that ever gorged themselves
at a stolen banquet. They pollute everything they
touch. No character is too pure for them to fasten
their filthy claws in. No reputation is so spotless
that they may not slime it over with their lying words.
Their noses are keener than any crow’s. Their faces
are flabby and flaccid, and greasy from long feed¬
ing at unholy swinish feasts. Their eyes have a wry
twist from peeping slyly around corners and through
cracks to see what goes on behind private walls.
They are more shameless than Peeping Tom, of
Coventry. Would that their eyes, like his, might be
shriveled into darkness in their heads. It would be
but meager punishment for the evil they have done,
the reputations they have blasted, the families they
have broken up, the tears they have caused.

There is a proverb which says that “ it takes two
to make a bargain.” So we may say, it takes two
to make a slander. No person can retail slanders
unless some one else will listen to him. The one
who listens is little less guilty than the one who tells.

“Slander meets no regard from noble minds;

Only the base believe what the base only utter,”

says somebody. Plautus declares that if he could
have the decision of the matter, the men who carry
about and those who listen to accusations should all
be hanged, the carriers by their tongues and the
listeners by their ears.

524

FLATTERY.

MATTERY.

How debasing a habit flattery is, has been spoken
of before. No man of independence and spirit will
ever suffer himself to become a flatterer, the thing is
too base, too ignoble for him to stoop to it. “ It is
the most abject thing in nature ; nay, I cannot think
of any character below the flatterer, except he that
envies him.” But flattery would be comparatively a
venial offense if it harmed no one else than him who
uses it. It is also a most deadly thrust at the mental
integrity of him who is the object of it. It leaves a
very dangerous impression. It swells a man’s imagi¬
nation, entertains his vanity, and drives him to a
doting upon his own person. One of the character¬
istics of David Garrick, the great actor, was thus men¬
tioned by Goldsmith in his “Retaliation”:

“ Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came;

And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame;

Till his relish grown callous almost to disease,

Who peppered the highest was surest to please.”

Exaggeration.

One of the commonest tendencies of persons who
do not sufficiently reverence the truth, is that toward
exaggeration, or in other words, “stretching the story.”
Is not truth the sublimest thing in the world? What
need is there that we should deck it in the tinsel of

TRUTHFULNESS.

525

exaggerati°n, and thereby destroy its vitality. The
superlative degree does not add power to a state¬
ment when habitually used ; it is only an element
of weakness. The simple truth in speech stands
out in plain grandeur, like the Doric column in
architecture. The superlative degree in language
should be reserved to express the superlative degree
in things. . Instead of which, it is generally used
upon insignificant things, in a vain attempt to bring
them up to a sort of general level of importance.
How foolish! Are not the Alps finer than the dead
level of the Sahara? A mountain needs a valley
to set it off. Mount Everest, set into the midst
of a plateau two thousand nine hundred feet high,
would seem but a very small hill. So the grandest
truth of the universe, surrounded by high-sounding
but empty phrases, loses its force, and seems but
a folly among follies. Let those things that are
trivial remain trivial, that those which are great may
not be dwarfed of their greatness.

He who habitually exaggerates, loses all credit for
truthfulness, and people learn to listen to what he
says with a grain of allowance, to divide it, as it were,
by two, or five, or ten. So that whenever he does
have something of real importance to tell, no one will
believe him, and he is thus the loser by his desire to
be sensational.

It is not always easy to tell the exact truth. To
hear accurately and then to tell just what you have
heard, no more and no less, is a task requiring a

526

EXAGGERATION.

degree of attention and intelligence possessed by
comparatively few. To illustrate to his school the
necessity of absolute precision in the statement of
words, and the difficulty of acquiring it, a gentleman
selected from the high school six of the most capable
boys, whose average age was, perhaps, seventeen
years. He explained the experiment he was about
to make, and desired them to give it their close atten¬
tion, in order, if possible, to repeat the words he was
about to give them. The plan was to show number
one a short sentence written on a piece of paper,
which he was requested to memorize and whisper to
number two, who, in turn, was to communicate it to
number three, and so on, till the last of the six should
receive it, and write it upon the blackboard. The
boys were anxious to prove that they could tell a
straight story when they applied their minds to it,
especially, since a failure on this trial would show
them to be inaccurate, and consequently unreliable in
all ordinary statements, where no unusual efforts were
made to report correctly. The following sentence
was prepared for the trial : “ Maternal affection is.
an instinct which most animals possess in common
with man.” After each boy had communicated the
sentence to his neighbor, the last one wrote the
following as his version : “ Maternal affection is an
instinct which all animals possess except man.” A

N i

comparison of these two sentences proves that it is a
difficult feat of memory to repeat, even under favorable
circumstances, any words uttered by another. Since

TRUTHFULNESS.

527

these boys, selected for their smartness, accustomed
to give attention as pupils, anxious to show their

ability to hear exactly, and repeat accurately, failed

\

to make a true report of eleven words, how much
more liable must ordinary persons be, under circum¬
stances less favorable, to report incorrectly the precise
words in a given conversation. A change of two or
three words in the above experimental sentence, makes
the last boy state the very reverse of the sentiment
expressed by the first one. How absurd it is to
suppose that persons generally can reproduce the
exact language of others, and how exceedingly cautious
we should be in giving, or in receiving, statements
claiming to be so accurate.

But hard as it is to speak and act always the exact
truth, it is well worth the trouble to do so. Truth
is one of the brightest and purest of the moral jewels
of our nature. It not only illustrates, but it adorns
and dignifies. It is, indeed, invaluable in almost every
respect in which it may be considered. The true man,
one whose word may always be relied upon, is deserv¬
edly esteemed and respected by all who know him ;
and the weight of his opinion cannot but exercise
a high moral influence in every intelligent circle. It
has been well and wisely contended that “ truth lies
at the very foundation of the really virtuous char- ,
acter.” It is the keystone of the arch. It inspires
confidence ; and in its absence, every other element
of purity is deprived of a portion of its beauty and
strength. No truly great or good man ever lived

EXAGGERATION.

52^

in whom this trait was not prominent. Truth is the
brightest jewel in the young man’s crown. He that
is unwilling to prevaricate, to misrepresent, to garble,
to pervert ; he that scorns to deceive, and with a
modest frankness and a manly firmness always speaks
the simple truth, commends himself at once to the
respect and admiration of the truly wise and virtu¬
ous. An individual may be a perfect novice in busi¬
ness, may not possess brilliant talents, may be awkward
in person and unpolished in manners ; but let it be
known that he is a truthful man, that there is no
deception, no falsehood, about him, that he comes
directly to the mark in all he says, and that his word
is never to be doubted, and he will have a sure pass¬
port to the confidence of the community ; and he who
can command confidence, can also command success.
On the other hand, let an individual be attractive in
person, accomplished in manners, marked by energy,
enterprise, talent, and tact, but let him at the same
time be addicted to falsehood, and the effect will be
to create distrust, excite suspicion, to destroy hope,
and to impair prospects.

The following anecdote illustrates the value of a
reputation for truthfulness, and the confidence reposed
in one who has such a reputation. Just as the civil
war commenced, soldiers were enlisting and going
away from almost every home in the land. A young
man had volunteered, and was expecting daily to be
ordered to the seat of war. One day his mother
gave him an unpaid bill, with the money, and asked

TRUTHFULNESS.

529

/

him to pay it. When he returned home at night,
she said: “ Did you pay that bill?” “Yes,” he
answered. In a few days the bill was sent in a
second time. “ I thought,” she said to her son, “ that
you paid this.” “ I really don’t remember, mother,
you know I’ve had so many things on my mind.”
“But you said you did.” “Well,” he answered, “if
I said I did, I did.” He went away, and his mother
took the bill herself to the store. The young man
had been known in the town all his life, and what
opinion was held of him the result will show. “ I
am quite sure,” she said, “that my son paid this some
days ago ; he has been very busy since, and has quite
forgotten about it, but he told me that he had that
day, and says, if he said then that he had, he is quite
sure that he did.” “Well,” said the man, “I forget
about it, but if he ever said he did, he did.” How
much such a reputation would be worth to a man
in business, may perhaps be imagined.

“Truth informs the judgment, rectifies the mind,

Pleases the understanding, makes the will
Submit, the mem’ry, too, it doth fill
With what doth our imaginations please ;

Likewise it tends our troubles to appease.”

Charity.

MAN needs to have his soul warmed by
contact with helpless beings. If he met
nothing weaker than himself, his sympathies
would wither away, “ the milk of human
kindness” in him would all dry up, and he
would indeed be spiritually, a poor starve¬
ling creature. To give aid of any kind to anybody
who needs it, is an act which strengthens one, and
fills him with a peculiarly joyous feeling. Truly, “it
is more blessed to give than to receive.” There is
scarcely anything else that can produce such unmixed
happiness as the doing of good to a fellow man in
distress. Every act of that kind seems to leave a
residuum of goodness and kindness in our hearts ; and
accordingly in all religions generosity has been one
of the prominent sentiments. The most beautiful
trait in the character of the Mohammedan Arabians is
their almost boundless generosity. Their history is full
of examples of it, which it would be hard to match in
the history of any other race of people. The ancient
Jews had a saying that a man could purchase Paradise
with a cup of cold water, so highly did they value
charity and hospitality.

“Charity is a universal duty,” says Dr. Johnson,

530

WHEN AND HOW TO GIVE.

531

“ which it is in every man’s power to practice; since
every degree of assistance given to another, upon
proper motives, is an act of charity ; and there is
scarcely any man in such a state of imbecility as that
he may not, on some occasions, benefit his neighbor.
He that cannot relieve the poor may instruct the
ignorant ; and lie that cannot attend the sick may
reclaim the vicious. He that can give little assistance
himself may yet perform the duty of charity by influ¬
encing the ardor of others, and recommending the
petitions which he cannot grant to those who have
more to bestow. The widow that shall give her
mite to the treasury, the poor man who shall bring
to the thirsty a cup of cold water, shall not lose
their reward.” “A poor man,” say the Orientals,
“with a single handful of flowers, heaped the alms-
bowl of Buddha, which the rich could not fill with
ten thousand bushels.”

When and How to Hive.

But necessary and lovely as generous charity is,
there are times when it is out of place. There is a
proverb which says that “ Charity should begin at
home”; and the maxim, though it has been fre¬
quently abused, is a true one. Our families and our
creditors have the first claim upon us. We should
never get too good to be just. When our debts are
all paid, and those dependent upon us are all prop¬
erly cared for, is the time for outside charity to begin,

532

CHARITY.

or, at least, it ought not to be carried to any consid¬
erable extent before that time.

The neglect of this principle was one of the great
defects of Oliver Goldsmith’s character. The money
given him by his friends to enable him to obtain a
professional education was given away to others, and
wasted in riotous living. For a number of years he
lived a vagabond life, either wandering about over
Europe in the guise of a strolling musician, or living
by hook or crook in London. And after his repu¬
tation had been firmly established by “The Traveller,’'
“The Deserted Village,” and other pieces, and he was
able to obtain large prices for whatever he might write,
so great was his extravagance and his generosity that
he was always in financial distress, living in discomfort,
and dying ten thousand dollars in debt. With great
abilities and troops of friends, he might, by only a
moderate exercise of judgment, have lived in comfort
and happiness, and been respected as well as loved.
As it was, he was rendered miserable by his very
excess of amiability.

There is another way in which we should limit
our charity, and that is by the character of the one
who asks for aid. Begging has always been a favorite
resort for the lazy and improvident. It is a regular
trade and is said to be not an unprofitable one. It
is hard of course to say “ No” to a person, especially
a child or a woman, who puts on a pitiful face and
begs to be relieved from starvation, or extreme
suffering. But to encourage degraded idleness and

WHEN AND HOW TO GIVE.

533

extravagance is certainly wrong, and in very many
cases that is the only effect which a gift to these
people will have. So far as is possible, a person
ought to investigate the petitions for relief which
come to him, and then give or withhold his aid,
according to the worthiness or unworthiness of the
petitioner. This process involves expenditure of time
and trouble, but its performance (when it does not
conflict with some higher duties) is a duty which we
owe to the world, to the person asking assistance,
and to ourselves. We owe it to the world, because
the welfare of society demands that all its members
shall be engaged in some useful work. We owe
it to the person, because otherwise we might be in
danger of refusing aid to some one worthy of it.
W e owe it to ourselves as a matter of protection
against impostors.

The numerous benevolent associations and other
modern means of systematically alleviating the con¬
dition of the poor, are deserving of all praise and
support. Having large amounts of money at their
disposal, and making charity a business to be con¬
ducted upon business principles, they are able to
cover the field of want much more thoroughly than •
could possibly be done by unorganized individual
effort alone. They reach a great many cases that
private benevolence could not. Notwithstanding all
this, it is desirable that every man should be to a
great extent his own bestower of alms. Half the
blessedness of giving is lost, if we give indirectly.

534

CHARITY.

We need t-o come into close contact with the squalid
wretchedness of the poor. It is only thus that we
can get the full personal benefit from our alms-giving.
Our souls are made richer by knowing for ourselves
the misery which exists, and having our sympathies
excited by it, and by the gentle glow of feeling which
follows every good action. It does not help us nearly
so much to give to associations for the remote dis¬
tribution of aid.

Alms should be given cheerfully and pleasantly,
as if the whole heart went with them, and not grudg¬
ingly, with an air that seems to say they are given
only for the purpose of getting rid of a disagreeable
person. The pleasant word that shows a genuine
good-will, often helps the poor heart more than any
material assistance could do, while an abundant gift,
gruffly given, carries with it a poison which counter¬
balances any good it might otherwise do. Let us
never be harsh or unkind toward those people who
may be unfortunate enough to need help from us ;
a pleasant word costs nothing, and it never fails to
do good.

“ When thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know
what thy right hand doeth,” was one of the injunctions
of that never to be equaled “Sermon on the Mount.”
Too large a portion of our charity is done to be seen
of man. The poor that surround us are neglected ;
perhaps our neighbor’s children go with bare feet
because he is unable to buy shoes for them ; per¬
haps the family of the man who does odd chores

WHEN AND HOW TO GIVE.

535

for us have never known the pleasure of eating- a
good meal in a warm, pleasant room ; there may be
in our immediate neighborhood some one sick and
unable to procure the services of a physician, for
lack of money. We may know of all this, and yet
pass it carelessly and heartlessly by. To relieve these
necessities would probably bring us no honor before
the world. Probably no one would ever hear of our
act. But when the solicitor calls with his paper, ask¬
ing money for some fanciful cause, we give freely.
Why? People will see our name upon the paper,
and praise us for our generosity. But that act bears
no relation to charity ; it is merely an outgrowth of
our desire for praise, and the bookkeeper above will
give us no credit for it. Give for the benefit of the
needy, not the newspapers and the gossips. Some¬
body has said that the common practice of keeping
all we have through life, and at death leaving the
bulk of it to found some institution which shall bear
the name of the giver, is the worst form of selfish¬
ness. If not exactly the worst form of selfishness,
it certainly is not the highest form of generous charity.

In order to derive the fullest and purest pleasure,
as well as the most spiritual benefit, from our charity,
we should give freely, cheerfully, unostentatiously, and
in such ways, times, and places as we think will lead
to the most real good. And, then, how intense and
how pure is the joy we may get from it, only he
knows whose name is blessed in the humble abodes
of the needy poor about him.

536

CHARITY.

fORGIVENESS AND 'fOLERANCE.

Charity shows itself not only in a spirit of help¬
fulness to those who are poor in this world’s goods,
but also in a readiness to forgive injuries which we
may have received from others, and in a disposition
to be tolerant of those whose opinions differ from
our own, and to be gentle and lenient in our dealings
with offenders of all kinds. This broadness of view,
this thorough understanding of our own nature and
its weak parts, will doubtless arouse the same senti¬
ments in others. Human nature is about the same
everywhere, and in times of trial and temptation it
is exceedingly apt to give way. Sinlessness is proof
of virtue only when it has been maintained in the
midst of temptation. Oh, you who have always been
cradled in the lap of luxury, who have lived sur¬
rounded by all the influences that refine and ennoble,
who have never known the insidious wiles of the
tempter when he comes hid in the cloak of duty to
loved ones, point not the finger of scorn at your
more hardly-entreated brother. Shun not his presence.
Throw round him your pitying arm ; relieve his neces¬
sity, remove his temptation, and strive to strengthen
him against its recurrence. Remember that in his
place you might have been as weak as he.

Lack of charity for the opinions of others has been
one of the world’s greatest curses. It is the ugliest
blot in the history of humanity. Only two or three

FORGIVENESS AND TOLERANCE. 537

centuries ago, the soil of England and France was
reddened with the blood of religious offenders. “ The
Reformation ” was accomplished only after a long
series of bitter persecutions and civil wars.

After a terrible politico-religious war had been
waged for eight years in France, between the Hugue¬
nots and the Catholics, there was a short peace of
two years, and then on St. Bartholomew’s day, 1572,
the Catholics of France rose against their Protestant
brothers and in one day there fell, victims to religious
hatred, of Huguenots, to a number which is variously
estimated at from thirty thousand to seventy thou¬
sand. And this dreadful massacre was applauded by
the Pope of the time, who proclaimed a year of jubilee
to celebrate this so-called victory of the church.

The change of religion in England brought about
almost as much misery as in France. During the
reigns of Henry VIII., Edward VI., Mary and Eliza¬
beth, England was the scene of constant religious
persecution, now of the Catholics and now of the
Protestants, the severest punishments being inflicted
upon those who dissented from the established religion.
Nor did the trouble end when the supremacy of prot-
estantism was finally established. The hatred and
warfare between different sects of the new religion
was as bitter as it had formerly been between Cath¬
olics and Protestants, until finally the people grew tired
of the sickening outrages, and a much more tolerant
feeline arose in the world.

O

But even now, though bodily toleration is granted

538

CHARITY.

to persons whose doctrines are unpopular, mental and
social toleration is not. If a man avows his adherence
to opinions very radically differing from those of his
neighbors, he is almost sure to be banished from
their homes. Our minds are not yet capacious enough
to accommodate the whole of a question. We can
look only upon one side of it. We are lawyers who
investigate a subject only with a view of finding argu¬
ments to confirm an opinion already asserted, not
judges whose purpose is to arrive at the exact truth.
This is surely a defect in our mental habits, and
one which we should sedulously strive to remedy.
There is room enough inside the pales of truth for
a great many opinions which appear contradictory.
All truth cannot be penned up in one formula or
one set of ideas. It is a weakness, then, for us to
insist upon the absolute and complete truth of some
favorite dogma and to quarrel with all other opinions.
The strongest man would perceive and gladly recog¬
nize whatever of truth any doctrine might contain,
and look upon the rest with toleration, as being merely
absence of truth — just as darkness is only absence
of light and not any active principle in itself. And
if he saw himself forced to combat any idea, he would
confine his warfare to the doctrine, not extending it to
the person who happened to believe it.

Why should two men be personally hostile merely
because they hold conflicting opinions upon certain
subjects ? There is little more sense in quarreling
with a man because his opinions contradict our own,

FORGIVENESS AND TOLERANCE. 539

than in fighting him because his nose is pug while
our own is hooked, or because he is hunch-backed,
while we are only club-footed. A man’s Republican¬
ism, or Democracy, or Methodism, or Catholicism,
or whatever ism he may adhere to, is as much a
part of his individuality as his nose and his hair,
and should be as much respected, and as little a
cause of personal controversy with him. Let us,
then, live together in peace and harmony, and look
upon doctrines as things to be studied and thought
about, but not to be quarreled over.

Who has not committed error? Who has not
strayed away from high principle, unwavering recti¬
tude, and the lofty standard of perfection ? And yet
who would not revolt at the idea of having the door
of forgiveness closed against him — of being doomed
to suffer, no matter how deep his contrition, or how
severe his penalty or regret, remorse and punish¬
ment ? A penitent should ever be welcomed again
to the fold of virtue. If, in the first place, he found
himself unable to resist the temptations of his posi¬
tion in the world, if despite his convictions to the
contrary, he nevertheless went astray and kept astray
for years, the effort by which he at last recovered
himself, and asserted his supremacy of the moral and
rio-ht over the immoral and wrong, must have been
a vigorous and a noble one. He deserves credit

o

therefor ; and, if sincere, should not only be taken
by the hand freely and willingly, but the darkness
of his past character should be blotted forever from

540 CHARITY.

the memory. We should forget, if possible, and
assuredly we should forgive.

“ In taking revenge,” said Lord Bacon in his

inimitable way ; “ a man is but even with his enemy ;

but in passing it over, he is superior, for it is a

prince’s part to pardon. And Solomon, I am sure,

saith, ‘ It is the glory of a man to pass by an
offense.’ That which is past, is gone, and irrevoca¬
ble ; and wise men have enough to do, with things
present and to come ; therefore, they do but trifle
with themselves, that labor in past matters. There
is no man doth a wrong for the wrong’s sake ; but
thereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure, or
honor, or the like. Therefore, why should I be
angry with a man for loving himself better than me ?
And if any man should do wrong, merely out of ill
nature, why? Yet it is but like the thorn, or briar,
which prick, and scratch, because they can do no
other.”

Charity commands that we should not take revenge
for any wrongs done us, but should forgive all injuries
in a spirit of love and gentleness. Pride commands
the same thing, for to avenge an injury is to put
ourselves on a level with the offender, while to for¬
give it is to raise ourselves above it and the doer
of it. An enlightened self-interest will also move
to the same result ; for, as Lord Bacon says in the
essay quoted above, “A man that studieth revenge
keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would
heal and do well. Vindictive persons live the life

FORGIVENESS AND TOLERANCE. 54 1

of witches ; who, as they are mischievous, so end
they unfortunately.” Anger and hatred are always
and inevitably uncomfortable feelings, and we had
best be rid of them as soon as possible. But nursing
them only makes them so much the stronger, and
in consequence so much the more painful. Besides,
there is a great positive pleasure in calmly forgiving
an injury. “Nothing is more moving to man,” says
Jean Paul, “than the spectacle of reconciliation. Our
weaknesses are thus indemnified, are not too costly,
being the price we pay for the hour of forgiveness,
and the archangel who has never felt anger, has
reason to envy the man who subdues it. When
thou forgivest, the man who has pierced thy heart
stands to thee in the relation of the seaworm that
perforates the shell of the mussel, which straightway
closes the wound with a pearl.”

When Louis, Duke of Orleans, came upon the
throne of France with the title of Louis XII., he com¬
menced his reign by forgiving all his enemies, though
he had now the power to punish them, saying that
“it did not become the King of France to resent
the injuries of the Duke of Orleans.” The act was
a noble one, and it won him the admiration of all
classes of people. Says Laurence Sterne : “ The brave
only know how to forgive ; it is the most refined and
generous pitch of virtue human nature can arrive at.
Cowards have done good and kind actions ; cowards
have even fought, nay, sometimes conquered ; but a
coward never forgave — it is not in his nature; the

542

CHARITY.

power of doing it flows only from a strength and
greatness of soul conscious of its own force and
security ; and, above all, the little temptations of
resisting every fruitless attempt to interrupt its hap¬
piness.”

The duty of Christian forgiveness does not require
you, nor are you allowed to look on injustice, or any
other faults, with indifference, as if it were nothing
wrong at all, merely because it is you that have been
wronged. But even where we cannot but censure,
in a moral point of view, the conduct of those who
have injured us, we should remember that such treat¬
ment as may be very fitting for them to receive may
be very unfitting for us to give. An old Spanish
writer, says : “ to return evil for good is devilish ; to
return good for good is human ; but to return good
for evil is Godlike.”

*

lUTIES Ifl THE RELHTIOHSHIFS

OF F{0 ME.

ERHAPS the most important and
widest-reaching of all the duties
which constantly bear upon us in
this world, are those which arise
from the nature and relationships
of our homes. A combination of

instincts and circumstances, some of which
we hold in common with the lower animals,
and some of which are higher, and quite
peculiar to ourselves, make a home essen¬
tial to our well-being and happiness.

It is the central spot of earth about
which lodge three fourths of the pleasant
or the sorrowful memories and hopes of life. The
tendrils of the youthful heart wrap themselves around
it so tightly that not the shock of years or the
deadening strain of distance can pull them away.
There is no other so charmed word in the English
language as that little word, home. There is no other

song that can thrill the soul with such power, and

543

544

HOME RELATIONSHIPS.

can so surely melt the stony heart to tears, as that
sweet song of home which was written out of the
life-blood of its author, when, wandering homeless
and poor, in the streets of foreign cities, he gazed
with an unspeakable yearning across the wild waste of
waters, toward the sunny southern home of his child¬
hood. Home is where Mother lived, and Father, and
Sister, and Brother. Home is where, “in the heart
of June,” we lay for hours, looking up into the calm
blue sky, and building our lofty plans for the future.
Home was the scene of a thousand delightful occur¬
rences that never happen anywhere else, and never
could happen anywhere else. Will Carleton used to
say, in one of his lectures, that heaven and earth
were united by a golden chain, and that every link
of that golden chain was a home.

In Goethe’s beautiful drama, “ Iphigenie auf Tau-
ris,” the poet introduces the priestess Iphigenie thus
soliloquizing in a forest of the foreign country which
fate has compelled her to adopt as a home :

“Among your gloomy shades, ye waving tops
Of the old and holy, thick-embowered woods,

As to the Goddess’ quiet sanctuary,

E’en yet I come with trembling awe,

As if I entered them the first time now :

Nor grows my soul accustomed to this place,

So many years a lofty will, to which
I am resigned, hath kept me hidden here ;

Yet from the first a stranger have I been.

For, ah ! beyond the sea are those I love,

And on the shore I stand the long day through,

My spirit looking for its Grecian home ;

HOME RELATIONSHIPS.

545

And for my sighs the wave brings only back
Its hollow tones that howl into my ear.

Alas for him who from his kindred far
Drags on his lonely life ! His nearest joy
Grief sudden snatches from his lips away.

His thoughts are ever roaming off toward
His father’s halls, where first the sun spread out
Before him heaven’s beauteous expanse,

Where equal-aged playmates strong and stronger
Bands of love bound round each other’s hearts.”

To be happy at home is the ultimate result of all
ambition ; the end to which every enterprise and
labor tends, and of which every desire prompts the
prosecution.

“ There is a land, of every land the pride,

Beloved by heaven o’er all the world beside ;

Where brighter suns dispense serener light,

, And milder moons emparadise the night ;

A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth,

Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.

^ The wandering mariner, whose eye explores

The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,

Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,

Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;

In every clime the magnet of his soul,

Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;

For in this land of heaven’s peculiar grace,

The heritage of nature’s noblest race,

There is a spot of earth supremely blest,

A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,

Where man, creation’s tyrant, casts aside
His sword and scepter pageantry and pride,

While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.

Here woman reigns ; the mo’ther, daughter, wife,

Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life !

35

546

HOME RELATIONSHIPS.

In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,

An angel-guard of loves and graces lie ;

Around her knees domestic duties meet,

And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.

Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found?

Art thou a man? — a patriot? — look around;

Oh, thou shalt find, howe’er thy footsteps roam,

That land thy country, and that spot thy home.”

The permanency of a home, and the closeness with
which its members are bound together, make it
extremely necessary, even from a selfish point of view,
that all the duties connected with it be uniformly
observed, and that nothing be neglected which can
in anyway contribute to purify and sweeten domestic
life. If those who must be so constantly and immedi¬
ately associated with one another for so long a term
of years, do not make any effort to avoid the petty
jealousies and quarrels that are likely to arise at any
time ; if they do not practice the many virtues that
tend to lessen the sorrows of home life and increase
its joys ; home will become a foretaste of purgatory,
rather than the blessed place of which we have
spoken. We may sum up all the principal home
duties in three words : honesty, kindness, and patience.
Let these three words be sunk deep into the heart
of every member of a home, and it will be the
blessedest spot on earth, the place from which every
one will be reluctant to part, and to which, when
absent, he will long to return.

There are different steps or stages in the develop¬
ment of homes, from the rosy Spring of life, when the

HOME RELATIONSHIPS.

547

youth are laying- their first plans for the future, on
past the Summer and harvest time, to the season of
the Autumn and the sere and yellow leaf. Out of
each stage grow peculiar forms of the duties already
named. The following analysis gives a simple, yet
very complete showing of the different periods in the
history of a home, and the chief branches of duty in
each.

r Of Lover and
Sweetheart.

f Proper Choice of Persons.
Love.

Mutual Honesty.

Of

Husband
and Wife.

r Fidelity and Honesty.
Patience.

< Continued Affection.
Sharing Cares and Joys.
Mutual Kindness.

f Education of Head and Heart.

Duties in the
Relationships <
of Home.

Of Parents
and Children *

Mutual Respect.
Discipline.

^ Mutual Love and Kindness.

Of Brothers
and Sisters.

Forbearance and Kindness
Love and Unity.

f Respect and kindness of employers.

Of Masters J obedience and Faithfulness,
and Servants.

i Honesty of Employes.

w Of Teachers
and Pupils.

"The Teacher’s Work.
Character Building.

Discipline.

Mutual Kindness and Respect.

Hover ajid Iweetreart.

OURTSHIP is the

The winds seem to blow balmier then
than at any other time; the skies wear
a softer blue ; the sunsets are more gor¬
geous and the moonlight is purer ; the brook
sings a sweeter song as it dances along
over its pebbly bed ; everything is hal¬
lowed by the presence of youth, buoyant spirits,
and uncrushed hopes. Where is the graybeard who
does not think the birds were gayer, and the flowers
brighter fifty years ago than now ? When he was
young the very trees sympathized with his love and
sighed the name of his mistress ; they don’t do that
now, they only howl when the wind whistles through
them, and too often send a chill to his soul. But
when he forgets the harshness of a stern, earnest life,
which lies between his present and the days of his
youth, his heart melts in sympathy with the joyous
young hearts of to-day, and he becomes himself
almost young again.

Love is the most powerful branch of the Sensi¬
bilities (see page 254 and 272) in this, that no per¬
fect human being ever lived but was at some period

of his life largely governed by this universal senti-

548

halcyon time of life.

Y0UMG iYBOM AMB MASS (OHAWOETH

LOVER AND SWEETHEART. 549

ment. It is safe to say that with the majority of
people it may make or mar their lives.

Much of the bitterness and recklessness of spirit
which shows itself in Byron’s writings was due to
the unhappy state of his affections. His first and
purest love, that for Miss Chaworth, was doomed to
disappointment. The lady’s uncle, who was also her
guardian, on account of an old quarrel between the
two families refused to allow the young Lord to pay
his attentions to the maiden, and succeeded in turn¬
ing her heart away from him. He married another
some years afterward, but the world is familiar with
the story of their unhappiness and separation. It is
true there were some other causes (notably one,
a vicious tempered mother) for Byron’s sad career ;
but had he been more fortunate in his love attach¬
ments, his life might have borne more worthy fruits,
and had a far different ending.

Love has been the most fruitful subject and cause
of poetry from the time of ancient Sappho, down
to that greatest love poet of all, Tom Moore. It
would take a large library to hold all the poems that
lovers have written out of their passion. Our own
age and country furnishes two or three remarkable
examples of books that were written as offerings at
the altar of love.

It is said that we owe “Innocents Abroad” to
circumstances such as these : Samuel L. Clemens
(Mark Twain) went to Europe with an excursion
party, and during the trip a mutual affection grew

550

LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

up between him and an accomplished lady, daughter
of a wealthy citizen of a town in New York. Clemens
was fresh from the wild society of the Rocky Mount¬
ains and Mississippi River, and as might naturally be
expected, was somewhat rough in action and speech.
He had little means of support aside from his pen,
and the father of the young lady judged him a not
very desirable person to be introduced as a son into
the family of a gentleman of wealth and culture ;
hence his suit was rejected. But he determined to
make himself worthy of the lady of his love, and
to show his worthiness. In pursuance of this two¬
fold idea, he corrected his habits, and wrote “Inno¬
cents Abroad,” a most spirited and witty account of
his foreign tour. It only remains to be added that
he was successful ; he had some fame already as a
writer, and this book made for him both an enduring
name and some money ; and he received from the old
gentleman, not only his bride, but a beautiful home.

Another case yet more romantic and beautiful,
is that of Longfellow. In 1842 Miss Frances Appleton
was traveling in Europe with her father. In the same
year, Professor Longfellow was in Germany. He was
then about thirty-five years old, professor of modern
languages and belles-lettres in Harvard University.
Mr. Longfellow became deeply enamored of Fannie
Appleton. He was a man of fine personal appearance,
with rare attainments in European culture, to which
he had devoted several years of travel and study, and
he had already a fame as a poet not confined to

LOVER AND SWEETHEART. 55 1

America. But still his suit did not thrive. If not
absolutely rejected, he was not an accepted lover.
Both returned to America. Mr. Longfellow published
his romance of “ Hyperion,” in which he told the story
his love — he being his own hero, under the name
of Paul Flemming ; the heroine, Mary Ashburton,
representing Miss Appleton. One of the prettiest
bits of wooing in our language is that where Paul
Flemming makes known his love for Mary Ashburton.
They are sitting on a bank in a meadow near an old
German castle ; the lady has her sketch-book and is
making a drawing of the ruins ; she inquires if there
is not some strange history or tradition connected
with the locality, and he tells her he will furnish one
for her. She laughingly says she will be pleased to
listen to it. Paul proceeds to tell her a story of a
lonely student who once occupied a room in this castle
and delighted only in books, till he saw the beautiful
Hermione, when his studies no longer satisfied his
heart. Hermione refused to listen to him ; and he
begged fate to take away his memory that he might
no longer think of her. But at the last he could not
bear to part with his remembrances of Hermione; and,
though she would not love him, he refused to take
her image out of his heart. At this point Paul
discovers to Mary that she is herself the Hermione
of his story, and Paul is himself the devoted but
unhappy student.

Longfellow did not give up his unsuccessful suit,
but followed Miss Appleton to her home in Pittsfield;

552

LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

and no lady who has read either “ Hyperion” or
“ Kavanagh,” his two books inspired by this courtship,
will blame the heroine for at last yielding to so
earnest a lover.

Courtship is not only the most blissful, but, perhaps,
also the most serious period of life. It is the first step
toward the making of a home. Its effects must remain
with us to the grave, attuning our lives to pleasure
or pain. It is a step which is very hard to retrace,
and which, even if retraced, will leave impressions
which can never be rubbed out. It is of the utmost
importance, then, that the step should be wisely taken,
that the effects may be pleasant, and that there may
be no footprints which we could desire to efface.

f ROPER CHOICE OF lERSONS.

Aside from mental qualifications, there is one matter
which must be considered before taking the marriage
vow, and before entering upon that courtship period
which is preliminary to marriage, and that is health.
It is one of Nature’s laws that a parent’s health or
disease is inherited by his children, and it may be very
seriously questioned whether we have any right to
bring into the world children who must be cursed with
pain and suffering throughout their lives, or who are
more likely than not to be left in helpless orphanage
while they are yet infants. Consumptives, scrofulous
persons, and persons with hereditary tendency to in-

PROPER CHOICE OF PERSONS.

553

sanity, should carefully consider this before marriage.
It has already been said in the chapter on Bodily Nat¬
ure (page 39), that mental and moral as well as phy¬
sical tendencies are inherited. Somewhere I have
read the history of four generations of a certain family.
The father was a drunkard ; the son inherited these
tendencies, and was also a drunkard ; the grandson was
sober, but was melancholy and semi-idiotic, and, I
believe, committed suicide ; the great grandson again
was a drunkard. Some years ago a wealthy and popu¬
lar physician near Joliet, Illinois, happy in his domestic
relations, suicided without apparent cause ; his father,
under like circumstances, had done the same thing
before him.

Hence, persons whose lives have been such as to
bring disease of any kind upon them, or to taint their
moral natures, should, in justice to the world, refrain
from matrimony, and not marry, to leave behind them
a weak-brained, weak-nerved, weak-bodied posterity.

In guarding the matter of health it is not meant,

however, that we must go to work with phreno¬

logical and physiological line and rule to determine
who would be the best fitted to mate with us. The
color of the eyes and hair, the size and figure, —

these things will generally take care of themselves

in accordance with the laws of nature. But we must
watch the mental temperament, tastes, habits, birth,
aspirations and external circumstances, and see to it
that they are in harmony.

554

LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

Whittier’s farmer says that

“Love has naught to do
With meetness or unmeetness.

Itself its best excuse, it asks
No leave of pride or fashion
When silken zone or homespun frock
It stirs with throbs of passion.”

Sometimes indeed, this is true, but not often. It
is not usual for a woman who has been bred in the
midst of luxury and refinement to live in harmony
and content with a husband who must win their daily
bread, and coarse bread at that, by the veritable
sweat of his brow. “Silken zone” and “homespun
frock” go to together very nicely in pastoral poetry,
but in practice they do not, as a rule, continue long
in their dove-like billing and cooing ; though, to the
honor of human nature be it said, they sometimes do.
Wealth, station and habit are real things in the world,
things which wield a tremendous power, and it is
well not to oppose them except with the keenest and
strongest weapons. It is better not to risk the experi¬
ment, for life-long misery is consequent upon failure
in it. It is wiser not to bring home to your humble
cottage a wife accustomed to the comfort and splendor
of a mansion, for seldom do we find strength of mind
and heart sufficient to bear up carefully under the
hardships necessarily attending the change of circum¬
stances. And on the other hand, if you are wealthy,
you can generally do better than to bring home as
mistress of your house a woman to whom surround-

PROPER CHOICE OF PERSONS.

555

ings such as yours are strange, and who will not be
able to sustain the dignity of your household, and
move with grace in the society into which her
new position will lead her. Goethe’s marriage with
Christiane Vulpius is thought to have caused him a
great many unhappy hours. He was refined, aristo¬
cratic, artistic ; she, coarse, humble and uneducated.

A great many lives have been rendered wretched

»

by an unwise pairing of people of opposite habits
and training. Milton, quiet, scholarly, and recluse in
his methods of living, married a woman accustomed
to the gayety usual among wealthy royalist families.
As a result of this disparity, she deserted him a few
weeks after marriage. Under ordinary circumstances,
it is not wise for a person of education and cultured
tastes to marry one without these accomplishments.
A great many people so situated marry with the
expectation that the educated party will train the
uneducated one up to his level. The sequel com¬
monly shows a result directly opposed to this, the
lower level, instead of the higher, is the one upon
which both parties stand after a period of years.
Andrew Johnson was an ignorant tailor when a young
man ; his wife educated him after marriage, and he
finally became President of the United States. But
Andrew Johnson was possessed of uncommon will
and intellectual power, and the average young man
could scarcely be advised to make an attempt at
stepping in his tracks — the strides are too long. It
would be with him as it was with the youthful David

55^

LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

when he put on Saul’s armor which was too heavy
for him ; he tried to go, but could not.

In Paul’s second epistle to the people of Corinth,
he enjoins them thus : “ Be ye not unequally yoked
together with unbelievers ; for what fellowship hath
righteousness with unrighteousness ? and what com¬
munion hath light with darkness? And what concord
hath Christ with Belial ? or what part hath he that
believeth with an infidel?” The apostle’s rule is an
excellent one on prudential grounds. But this rule,
like the preceding ones, is not absolute. It is only
a general hint which may best be acted on or dis¬
carded according to special circumstances. Where
there is strong, steady love, its force will overpower all
hindering circumstances and make plain the roughest
road.

The mother of a distinguished scholar, when
young and wishing to marry, was told by her father :
“We do not know whence this man came.” “I know
whither he is going,” she replied, “and I want to go
with him.” She was right ; of yet more importance
than birth, education, and financial or social circum¬
stances, are the future hopes and plans of life of the
interested persons. It is necessary that they should
be consistent. If the personal aims and wishes of
husband and wife are incompatible, there will be
jarring and discord all through their married life.
If, for example the husband aims at scholarship or
wealth, and the wife at gayety and society, as in
Milton’s case, or the wife at quiet and domestic

PROPER CHOICE OF PERSONS.

557

happiness and the husband at dissipation and frolic, '
their interests will conflict, and the result will be
petulance and dissatisfaction, if, indeed, there is noth¬
ing worse. It is a law of physics that if two forces
are operating upon a body in opposite directions, the
resultant force by which the body moves is only
equal to the difference between the original forces ;
and that if they operate in the same direction the
resultant force is equal to the sum of the two original •
forces. A man and his wife are two forces. If they
pull in opposite directions each tends to destroy the
power of the other, and little or nothing is accom¬
plished by the expenditure of their energy. But if
they work in the same direction, the result is the
sum of their individual powers. Be careful then,
young man or young woman, that the life-aims of
the one you select for your companion harmonize
with yours. It is better to work alone than to have
your exertions neutralized by the opposite exertions
of your comrade.

It seems scarcely necessary to say that marriage
ought not to grow out of anything but love. So-
called “marriages of convenience” are abominations.
“ Love gives itself, but is not bought,” says Long¬
fellow. A brown-stone front and a bank account are
not essential factors in love, and should not be made
essential factors in marriage. A loveless pair, living

553

LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

together because the law compels them to do so, and
because their children must be cared for, is truly a
sight worthy of pity.

Never marry any one merely because he or she is
thought attractive by others :

“What care I how fair she be,

If she be not fair to me?”

If she be fair to you and to others as well, their
judgment confirms yours, which may be a gratification
to you. But if she be not fair to you, the fact that
others appreciate her cannot add one iota to your
enjoyment. In such matters^you had best follow your
own mind, only be sure that you know your mind.
Perhaps the most ridiculous and utterly inexcusable
inducement to marriage is spite. It happens often
that lovers quarrel, and then one or both marry some
other party out of mere spite. Such deserve all the
misery that generally falls to their lot.

Tastes, circumstances, and other elements being
suitable, and the young people being about to enter
upon that interesting courtship period, what is their
first and most important duty ? I should answer, that
of all things the one they need most now to practice
is absolute honesty toward each other. If ever there
is a time when deceit is proper, it certainly is not
during courtship. All kinds of unfairness in this

MUTUAL HONESTY.

559

matter are in the highest degree wicked, because the
injury is not a mere temporary one. It lasts for a life
time, and breeds misery constantly. Financial con¬
dition, education, expectations, character, habits of life,
all essential things, should be faithfully and fairly made
known to each other. Was there ever a more miser¬
able, more pitiable sight than that of a man and
woman, each poor in the world’s goods, who have
married because each had supposed the other to be
wealthy ? Such cases are by no means infrequent.
The common practice of going to the watering places
or other popular resorts for the purpose of catching
a rich or influential husband or wife, is one that can¬
not be too strongly denounced. It reduces marriage
to sheer bargain and sale, and is productive of an
enormous amount of trouble. Miserable indeed is
the condition of two beings thus united together in
discord. Life drags heavily on from day to day, while
the parties live together in the constant practice of
hypocrisy or in perpetual strife. The heart does not
light up the smile that plays upon the lips ; the soul
does not participate in the feelings that the tongue is
compelled to counterfeit. If we continue the deception
for any considerable period after the utterance of the
false vow at the altar, we live in daily violation of
the laws of God, while the adder of conscience con¬
tinues to sting deeply our peace of mind. The home,
that should at once form the source and center of
all true enjoyment, becomes hateful, and constantly
reminds us of our baseness. Or, if we at once throw

560 LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

off the mask, what a shadowy path will appear in the
distance ! And not content with possessing ourselves,
under false pretences, of the fortune of another, we
consummate the treacherous work, acknowledge the
baseness of the motive, and thus mingle poison in
the cup of the betrayed one’s happiness. We thus add
to the villainy and aggravate the original offense. We
thus embitter a life that has ventured its all for us and
destroy an illusion, dearer, perhaps, than life itself.
We thus entail a living death upon one whose only
error was a too blind confidence, a too easy credulity,
or a too susceptible heart. How bitter the fate of
such a fatally deceived and cruelly betrayed one !
Aggravated, too, as is often the case, by an eagle-eyed
jealousy. Counting over the hours of the long winter
nights, lonely and deserted, a heart breaking with
disappointment and despair ; a mind racked and tor¬
tured with a thousand barbed suspicions, and haunted
with as many terrible thoughts and suggestions. May
Heaven avert such a fate from any of the fair beings
within the circle of our readers ! And for the fiend
who would thus sport with the affections of a woman —

4

a fond and confiding creature of the gentler sex — and
then, tearing the mask from his features, disclose to
her the monster upon whom she had bestowed her
hand and lavished her heart, if there be a lower deep
than the raging and burning of his own conscience,
such must be his merited portion.

Avoid, we pray you, gentle readers, a discordant,
a merely ambitious, or a mercenary marriage. Avoid,

MUTUAL HONESTY. 56 I

as you would a serpent, the smooth-tongued villain
with a fair face, a fine form, and subtle tongue —
a hollow smile, and a hand with no heart in it — who
prowls about seeking to betray. The Italian bravo,
who creeps through the shadows with a poniard
beneath his cloak, is a noble spirit compared with
such a wretch. The one dooms his victim to a
single blow and a rapid death — the other protracts
the dreadful process for years, and snaps the cords
of the heart one by one, and each with added
anguish.

There is another phase of dishonesty which is, if
anything, even more common than the concealment
of the financial condition : it is deception in regard
to personal habits and temperaments. The young

lady who is at all other times slovenly, lazy, or ill-
tempered, will be, in the presence of her gentleman
friends, and especially in that of one whom she wishes
for a husband, the perfection of neatness, a model
of industry in temper, an angel on earth ; and the
young man will undergo a correspondingly strange
transformation. While it is right that each should
be as agreeable and attractive as possible in the
other’s company, it is not right that either should
be kept in the dark as to any essential qualities of
the other. If there is any hereditary disease, or
other physical infirmity, it should frankly be made
known. Physical health is a necessary basis for a
complete and happy married life. No man would
wish that his children should inherit disease or weak-
36

1

562 LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

ness, and he has a right to know if there be any
likelihood of such misfortune. So all mental and
moral defects which are not easily observable should
be revealed. If they are left to be discovered after
marriage, figures cannot compute the sorrow they
will produce. If there is any blot in the past history
of one, the other should be made acquainted with it.
No attempt should be made at deception in regard
to education, family connections, or social standing.
The hopes, prospects, and aspirations of each are
things of which the other has a right to expect full
information. In short, the most complete and abso¬
lute honesty should be maintained. If there is any
impediment to a happy marriage, it is better that it
should be known before the final and irrevocable
step has been taken. Now , the sorrow can be

avoided ; then, it can only be endured in patience.

\

Still another kind of dishonesty and insincerity
which is alarmingly prevalent in this country and at
this time, is the practice of deceit as to the inten¬
tions. There is too much of coquetry and flirtation
going on in society. It is a crime of no light dye
for a person of either sex to grow into the affections
of one of the other only to desert without a proper
cause. Many hearts, notwithstanding the assertion
of the man of the world to the contrary, have been
broken by disappointment in love, from sheer base¬
ness on the part of the loved one. Affection is a
serious thing, and ought not to be thus lightly trifled
with. It would be better if we had the rigid custom

O

MUTUAL HONESTY.

563

of the eighteenth century of Scotland, when the
young man and woman plighted their faith with their
hands upon the family Bible, and when a betrothal
was almost as sacred as a marriage — a promise to
be broken only upon the best of grounds. An engage¬
ment of marriage ought not be terminated except for
some serious incompatibility of disposition discovered
after it was entered into, or for some inexcusable
breach of faith. But when such a discovery is made,
it is undoubtedly better to dissolve the contract than
to take a false oath at the altar, and live a false life
thereafter.

It has already been said that marriage ought not
to be based upon anything but mutual love. An
engagement of marriage should not then be made
until the contracting parties are thoroughly assured
that a strong and lasting reciprocal affection exists
betwen them ; and when the engagement is once
formed, no pains should be spared to bind the tie
of affection closer and closer. All the little atten¬
tions and marks of love and respect should be
observed. Each should avoid all acts which could
possibly have a tendency" to excite jealousy or dis¬
trust on the part of the other. Each should con¬
centrate his thoughts upon the other, and try to
discover all the beauties that may exist in his char¬
acter and person, and to look with charitable eyes
upon his faults. Everything like anger or petulance
or ‘Movers’ quarrels” should be studiously avoided.
Quarrelsome lovers are not likely to make happy,

564

LOVER AND SWEETHEART.

harmonious companions after marriage ; and if quar¬
rels are very frequent, they had best conclude that
they are not really fitted for each other, but are
only laboring under a delusion, fascinated, perhaps,
by beauty, or some other external grace.

t

A^D

j

3

m

JO see two rational beings in the glow of
1 youth and hope which invests life with
f the halo of happiness, appear together,
and openly acknowledging their preference,
for each other, voluntarily enter into a
league of perpetual friendship, and call
heaven and earth to witness the sincerity
of the solemn vows — to think of the

I?

endearing connection, the important con¬
sequences, the final separation, the smile
that kindles to ecstacy at their union
must at length be quenched in the tears
of mourning! — but while life continues,
they are to participate in the same joys,
to endure the like sorrows, to rejoice and weep in
unison, — this is the most interesting spectacle that
social life exhibits.

“As unto the bow the cord is,

So unto the man is woman,

Though she bends him, she obeys him,

Though she draws him, yet she follows:

Useless each without the other ! ”

Better than the best of friends is a good wife.
Perhaps we should rather say that a good wife is
the best of all friends. What is it to woman that

565

566

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

the tempest is darkening on the path of him she
loves? It is he alone who has power to crush her
spirit’s strength. It is the breath of unkindness
only, the unkindness of him to whom her soul has
clung in its deepest trust, that can wither, beyond
the power of earthly healings, the energies of her
nature. But a portion of him, and she the gentle
and the feeble, whom his slightest neglect would
crush as with a heel of iron, goes smilingly and
gladly forth to be a sharer in the fury and the
desolation of the storm. All other ties may be
severed — penury, bereavement, the world’s scorn,
all other agonies may be meted out to her in her
cup of bitterness — and yet her heart, however deli¬
cately fashioned, hath not utterly lost its capability
of sweet harmonies. They will still break forth at
his touch — his whispered words of soothing will
pass over the mangled and bleeding tendons of her
soul, like the breath of spring healing the wounded
vine ; and all sufferings will be accounted as a
price of naught for that tenderness which has bound
up its wounds.

We hold it essential to a young mans success,
whether his calling be that of a merchant or trader,
priest, engineer, or lawyer, artist or man of letters,
that he should marry well and marry early. “Family
and poverty,” says Power, “have done more to support
me than I have to support them. They have com¬
pelled me to make exertions that I hardly thought
myself capable of ; and often when on the eve of

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

567

despairing, they have forced me, like a coward in a
corner, to fight like a hero, not for myself, but for my
Avife and little ones.” Washington Irving relates that
he was once congratulating a friend who had around
him a blooming family, knit together with the strongest
affection. “I can wish you no better lot,” said the
friend, with enthusiasm, “ than to have a wife and
children. If you are prosperous, there they are to
share your prosperity ; if otherwise, there they are
to comfort you. And, indeed,” he continues, “ I have
observed that a married man, falling into misfortune,
is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than
a single one ; partly because he is more stimulated to
exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved
beings who depend upon him for subsistence ; but
chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by
domestic endearments, and his self-respect is kept
alive by finding, that though all abroad is darkness
and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love
at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas, a
single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect ; to
fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart
to fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want
of an inhabitant.”

Some years ago, Dr. Stark, in Edinburgh, read a
paper concerning the influence of marriage upon length
of life. His calculations were based upon the statistics
of the Register-General, and they present some very
interesting facts. It was shown that between the ages
of twenty and twenty-five years, the death-rate among

568

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

bachelors was just double that among married men.
Among married men the mean age was fifty-nine and
a half years, while bachelors only reached an average
of forty years — a difference of nineteen and a half
years in the expectation of life, in favor of the married
men. Nearly one half the deaths among bachelors
occurred before they reached the age of thirty years.
Married women, also, were found to reach a greater
average age than those unmarried, though the differ¬
ence was not so striking as in the other sex. Dr.
Stark concluded that married life was clearly best
calculated to promote long life, health and happiness.

“ The joys of marriage are the heaven on earth,

Life’s paradise, great prizes, the soul’s quiet,

Sinews of concord, earthly immortality,

Eternity of pleasures.”

As no other relation into which people can enter
with each other, is so permanent and so intimate as
that of matrimony, there is no other which demands
so strict a performance of duty, in order that it may
not degenerate into a state of continual, bitter dis¬
cord ; and there is no other in which the duties are
so numerous and so varied in their character. They
are as many and as different as the occasions of life..
Each day, each hour, brings forth its new and special
obligations.

Still there are a few general duties that embrace
many particular ones, and that are of a special impor¬
tance, and of some of these we will speak.

FIDELITY AND HONESTY.

569

AND Mi

Honesty,

As the most important duty in courtship was seen
to be honesty, so we shall find it in married life.
Marriage is the strictest tie of perpetual friendship,
and there can be no friendship without confidence,
and no confidence without integrity ; and he must
expect to be wretched who pays to beauty, riches, or
politeness, that regard which only virtue and piety
can claim. Deceit and insincerity are not a good
foundation on which to try to build a pleasant,
profitable life in any sphere, and especially they do
not serve the purposes of home life. Perfect frank¬
ness should be one of the principal rules of husbands
and wives in all their dealings with each other. Thou¬
sands of families have been ruined by a violation of
this principle. How many bankruptcies every year
are attributed to the extravagance of wives ! And
how many of these wives, think you, would have been
so extravagant, had they known the true financial
condition of their husbands ? On the surface, the
men seemed to be doing a large and flourishing
business ; but their prosperity was hollow, a fact
which they knew, and which their wives did not
know. A woman can scarcely be blamed for living
up to what she believes to be her husband’s means.
A little frankness on his part would obviate these
difficulties, and the trouble and disgrace of a failure
in business would sometimes be avoided.

5/0

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

When the tale-bearer comes with his poisonous
words, if the one who seems to have been wronged
would go frankly to the other and ask about the
reported injury, instead of harboring distrust, and
perhaps hate, in his bosom, until it has grown into
huge dimensions, what a world of trouble would be
saved !

Between man and wife, a system of concealment,
prevarication and falsehood is not only culpable and
wicked, but it must sooner or later lead to the
destruction of everything like confidence — of all
harmony of feeling — of esteem, respect, and affec¬
tion. Alas for that condition of existence which is
made up of daily and hourly illustrations of deceit
and treachery — alas for the miserable beings who
are bound together for life, and who, nevertheless,
cannot bare their hearts to each other, cannot look
into each other’s faces with frankness and confi¬
dence — who, in brief, are in the daily utterance and
practice of falsehood. They are in constant bondage
to guile, and the galley-slave chained to his oar
must be happy in comparison. Avoid then, gentle
reader — avoid as you would some deadly poison,
-everything like falsehood or deceit toward the object
of your friendship or affection, for although the
deception may succeed for months or even years,
detection will inevitably come, and the betrayed and
indignant victim will turn with jealous horror upon
the past ; and the fatal policy, even if forgiven, will
never be forgotten.

FIDELITY AND HONESTY. 5 7 1

Another requirement of honesty is that a man
and his wife should never fail to keep all promises
with each other. Nothing can more strongly tend
to keep alive their mutual confidence and respect,
than the habit of rigid adherence to all engage¬
ments. If either promises to do something for the
•other, no matter how insignificant the service may
be, he should do it. Cobbett, the celebrated radi¬
cal politician of England, was a pattern in the faith¬
fulness with which he observed all promises made
to his wife. He says that, though he was very
often away from home, he never once disappointed
her as to the time when he would return. If he
could not fix a definite day upon his departure, as
:soon as it was possible he would do so ; and when
that day arrived, he was sure to arrive with it.
Once, when journeying from London to Botley, with
a friend named Finnerty, the two stopped at Alton
to dine with a gentleman, and becoming deeply
interested in their conversation, they remained until
eleven o’clock, when Cobbett, against the entreaties
of the others, insisted that he must go home, or
his wife would be alarmed at his non-arrival.

“ Blood, man,” said Finnerty, “ you do not mean to
go home to-night?” Cobbett said that he certainly
did, and ordered his vehicle brought. The distance
yet to travel was twenty-three miles, and on the way
a discussion arose as to whether Mrs. Cobbett would
be up to receive them. Cobbett affirmed, and Finnerty
-denied. When they arrived, at about two o’clock in

572

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

the morning, Mrs. Cobbett was up, and had a warm,
cheerful fire waiting for them. “You did not expect
him?” exclaimed Finnerty, in astonishment. “To be
sure I did,” she replied ; “ he never disappointed me in
his life.” How well it would be if all husbands would
copy Cobbett’s practice !

Patience.

Next in importance to honesty, probably, is patience,
Horace says that patience makes that more tolerable
which it is impossible to prevent or remove. A poet
speaks of patience as an angel which sits by a man,
holding out a full bowl of rich content, from which he
may take large draughts. Another calls it “ sorrows
salve ” ; it is a balm that heals all troubles.

“ The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear ;

And something, every day they live,

To pity, and perhaps forgive.”

Scarcely a day passes whose even course is not
marred by some occurrence calculated in its nature
to vex and worry us ; it may be trouble in business,
it may be the evil tale of a slanderer, or it may be
some hasty, thoughtless act or word which calls for
the exercise of patience. The wife is cross and
wearied by her household labors and disappoint¬
ments ; an impatient word from the husband will
start a family brawl which is neither dignified nor
conducive to happiness ; a little kind forbearance

PATIENCE.

573

would have soothed her, the cloud would have soon
passed by, and the strife would have been averted.
So when the husband is troubled and anxious, when

It

the cares and crosses of business weigh heavily upon
him, and he seems moody and crestfallen, a gentle
word and an affectionate caress from the wife will
clear up his brow and cause him to forget his
trouble. Perhaps no better rule could possibly be
adopted by a young married couple, than this :
Never both be cross at once.

Continued. Affection.

“The moment a woman marries/' says Bulwer,
“some terrible revolution happens in her system; all
her good qualities vanish, presto, like eggs out of a
conjuror’s box ; ’tis true that they appear on the other
side of the box, but for the husband they are gone
forever.” This is one of the outgrowths of dis¬
honesty in courtship. The lovers have hidden all
their bad qualities and displayed all their good ones,
and now that they are married, they swing by a
natural reaction to the other end of the arc, and
hiding their good qualities, as if they were holiday
clothes, and must be shut up in a closet away from
the light, they display their bad ones. Now, my
dear friend, your husband or your wife has more
right than anybody else in the world to see what¬
ever of good or beautiful there is in you. It is of
no great consequence what Mr. Roe or Miss Doe

574

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

thinks of you, but it is of the greatest import that

✓

your life-companion should think you the manliest,
man or the most womanly woman in existence, and
you had best strain every nerve to convince him of
that fact. Young wife, consider — your husband would
rather eat beefsteak from a shining platter than capon
from dirty dishes. Contentment, together with neat¬
ness and virtuous industry, is the finest spice, and

X »

will add a delightful flavor to the humblest meal.
The ancients understood this. Horace, in his beau-
tiful “ Second Epode,” which has been a model for
all subsequent poets who would sing the praises of
country life, says :

‘‘And when a modest wife on her side aids to care
For darling children and for home,

Such as a Sabine woman, or the sun-browned spouse
Of some robust Apulian,

And heaps the sacred fireplace up with seasoned wood
Before her weary husband comes ;

And shutting up the joyful drove in hurdle pens,

From swollen udders draws the milk ;

And from the dolium extracting this year’s wine,

Her unbought viands she prepares ;

No greater pleasure would the Lucrene oysters, or
The turbot, or the scar-fish give,

If, thundered forth across the eastern waves, a storm
Should ever turn them to this sea ;

Nor to my palate would the Guinea fowl or the
Ionian attagen be more

Delightful than the olives gathered from the most
Prolific branches of the tree,

The bunches of the meadow-loving sorrel, or
The mallow, wholesome for the weak,

Or lambkins slaughtered at the Terminalia,

Or kids snatched from the greedy wolf,”

CONTINUED AFFECTION.

575

Your husband would rather walk upon a rag carpet
kept clean, than upon Brussels covered with dust and
litter. He would rather see you in neat wrapper of
calico or gingham, than in slovenly, ill-fitting robe
of silk. Flowers are pleasanter to him than cobwebs.
Slight ornaments of your making please him more
than shabby tinsel from the notion-stores. He will
rejoice more if he finds you busy with household duties
or a good book, than if he finds you lounging over a
season’s novel. Kindness and patience to all about
you, himself included, will be more attractive than
harshness or petulance. If you have read some well-
selected book or good newspaper, you can have a
subject of conversation more welcome than neighbor¬
hood gossip or fashion plates. In brief — be as neat,
as obliging, as even-tempered, as industrious, as
cheerful, now, as before your marriage you led him
to think you were. And young husband, if you
would see all these desirable qualities blooming in
your wife, remember that you have duties as important
to perform on your side. Before marriage, you were
polite, attentive, affectionate, were you not? Did you
not postpone your convenience to hers? Were you
not careful to shield her from all dangers and hard¬
ships ? Did you not always show her the best side
of your nature? Were you not always good-humored
and cheerful? Did you not strive to entertain her
and make your interviews pleasant with the riches of
your reading and experience? Did you not praise
her and show appreciation of the little tokens she gave

• 5/6 HUSBAND AND WIFE.

you? Do and be all that now. Try to make her life
;as pleasant as possible. Your marriage gives room
for the display of lovable qualities which you could
not show her before. Be liberal with her. Anticipate

i in,

her wants, as far as may be. Do not let her feel
that she must beg and coax for a week before she
can get the money for a new dress, or hat, or whatever
-else she may want. If you can, grant her request at
once, and pleasantly, not grudgingly. If you cannot,
.say so ; and kindly and fully explain why. My word
for it, if she is a worthy woman, she will not take it
ill of you, but will willingly confine her wants within
the bounds of your ability to supply.

There is an old story told of Jonathan Trumbull
which will illustrate the importance of continuing exhi¬
bitions of affection after marriage. When Trumbull
was governor of the State of Connecticut, a gentle¬
man called at his house one day, requesting a priv¬
ate interview. He said: “I have called upon a very
unpleasant errand, sir, and want your advice. My
wife and I do not live happily together, and I am
thinking of getting a divorce. What do you advise,
sir?” The governor sat a few moments in thought ;
then, turning to his visitor, said, “ How did you treat

Mrs. W - when you were courting her? and how did

you feel toward her at the time of your marriage?”

"Squire W - replied, “ I treated her as kindly as I

could, for I loved her dearly at that time.” “Well,
sir,” said the governor, “go home and court her now
just as you did then, and love her as when you married

CONTINUED AFFECTION.

577

her. Do this in the fear of God for one year, and then
tell me the result.” When a year passed away, ’Squire

W - called again to see the governor, and said : “ I

have called to thank you for the good advice you gave
me, and to tell you that my wife and I are as happy as
when first we were married. I cannot be grateful

enough for your good counsel.” “ I am glad to hear

\

it, Mr. W - ,” said the governor, “ and I hope you

will continue to court your wife as long as you live.”

Sharing Cares and Hoys.

Man and woman should be not only companions,
but helpmates to each other. There is nothing
which so much helps the hardworked housewife as
a word of appreciation and a little assistance cheer¬
fully given. Some little service, outside of the
regular routine, will gladden her heart, and lighten
her labors for a whole day. There is no other
thing that will so much encourage and strengthen
a weary man, worn by the toils of business, as the
knowledge that his wife is full of sympathy for him
and is trying to help him in every way that she can.
It is not right that all the burdens of life should
fall upon the man. The woman should be willing,
more than that, she should be anxious, to help bear
them. The woman whose husband toils all day in
the office, shop, or counting-house, struggling to
advance the position of himself and family, and who
herself seems to have no ideas above the frivolous

37

5/8

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

demands of fashion, or the desire of luxurious ease,
is a poor lean-souled creature. And yet how many
there are, to whom this description applies ; they
seem to have married solely for the purpose of
having a younger man to work for the procurance
of the luxuries they desire, after they have worn
their fathers out, — just as one parts with an old
decrepit horse that he may buy one younger, and
one capable of performing more labor.

They have not sense enough to see, or heart

enough to feel, that their interests and those of their

husbands are identical. Instead of this, they should
employ at least a considerable portion of their time
in managing their household affairs as wisely as they
can. Ordinarily, it is the man’s duty to supply the
wants of the household, but the woman’s work in
managing and economizing the money he allows her,
is almost as valuable as his in making it. For those
whose wealth lifts them above the necessity of

watching their expenditures closely, there is still
enough to do in caring for the training of their

children, and guarding them from the temptations
that particularly beset the children of wealthy parents.
Home will be a very much happier and more attractive
place if this spirit of mutual helpfulness exists ; and
people who find that married life is not yielding them
the enjoyment which they expected, will do well to try
the experiment of earnestly helping each other for
awhile and see what results it will bring forth.

MUTUAL KINDNESS.

579

JHutual Kindness.

The last duty to be spoken of here is that of
general kindness, a constant endeavor to make each
other happier. Says an old poet :

“ Kindness has resistless charms,

All things else but weakly move ;

Fiercest anger it disarms,

And clips .the wings of flying love.”

This is the sugar and spice of existence ; if all the
other duties that have been spoken of are carefully
observed, a person may lead a calm, tasteless sort of
life, without much pain, but yet without much pleasure.
With this added to the others, life becomes a dream of
happiness. A pleasant word, a gentle smile, an act
of loving forethought, can do so much to make life
better worth living. Let each try also to make the
surroundings of the other as beautiful and cheerful
as possible. It is an old saying that bare walls make a
gadding housewife. Let there be pianos, and many
books, luxurious furniture, spacious apartments, and
pleasant lawns, if it may be ; but if, as is most likely,
these things are out of reach on account of their costli¬
ness, everyone can, at least, have flowers, simple, home¬
made ornaments, a few books and papers, song, and
above all, kind treatment.

To sum up all the duties particularly appertaining
to the relations of husband and wife, we may say : let
each try honestly and persistently to make home a

5 §o

HUSBAND AND WIFE.

happy place. Do not be discouraged at one, or ten,
or a hundred difficulties and failures. Keep on trying ;
the results will not disappoint you in the end, if the
experiment is fairly and fully tried. Let neither expect
perfection in the other ; but let each strive faithfully,
though unostentatiously, to attain it himself.

*

Duties of §arerts rrd Children.

HAT gift has Providence bestowed on man,

cares of life ; but they mitigate the remembrance of
death,” says Bacon.

“Ah! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more?

We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.

“What the leaves are to the forest,

With light and air for food,

Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood, —

“That to the world are children;

Through them it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches the trunks below.”

581

that is so dear to him as are his chil¬
dren?” “I love these little people,” says
Dickens; “and it is not a slight thing
when they, who are so fresh from God,
love us.” “Call not that man wretched,
who, whatever ills he suffers, has a child
to love.”

But all this blessedness of children is
not given to us without an accompani¬
ment of many duties to perform. “ Chil¬
dren sweeten labors ; but they make mis¬
fortune more bitter : they increase the

I

582 DUTIES TO PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

The child is born into the world perhaps the most
helpless of all infant creatures, and his period of help¬
lessness is, perhaps, the longest, — continuing until the
age of twelve or twenty years. It thus becomes the
parent’s duty to care for the helpless being he has
/ brought into existence, to provide for his present wants,
and to train him for his future work, to the best of his
ability. Of course, the first and most indispensable
service is the provision of material necessities, such
as food and clothing. These should be sufficient for
health ; and a child should not be compelled to
undergo the mortification of wearing poor clothes
when the parents can afford 'him good ones. The
child’s sensibilities are very acute on this point, much
more so than ours. In any case, whether the clothes
be plain or costly, they should be sufficient for the
comfort of the child, and for his complete protection
against the inclemency of the weather. His health
is his most precious possession, and should not be
endangered by exposure. His food should be ample
in quantity, but plain and nutritious. It is a mistake
which involves very serious consequences to allow chil¬
dren rich and indigestible food. They pay the penalty
of this early abuse by a life of disease and suffering.

Education of Iead and Ieart.

The most important duty which a parent owes to
his child, after that of feeding and clothing him, is that
of training him to live honorably and successfully in the

\

EDUCATION OF HEAD AND HEART. 583

\

world when he shall have gone out as a man to fight
his own battles. ' Manhood carries with it a serious
and important charge which it will tax the energies
of the strongest to perform properly. The youth
cannot be too well prepared for the work he has
to face ; none of the strength which he may have
acquired in the practice of his early days will prove
superfluous ; the only danger is that it will be insuffi¬
cient. We have seen that the highest aim of man
is physical, mental, and moral perfection. It follows
then that the kind of training due from the parent
to the child is that which will carry him farthest on .
his road to a perfect life, and best fit him to travel
that road for himself after he passes out from the
control of his parents. The earliest care of the
parent should be to look after the physical welfare
of the child. With most children this is a passive
duty rather than an active one ; for the child is gen¬
erally ready and anxious to exercise all the powers
of his body. The only thing the parent has to do
is to see that the exercise is taken under proper

conditions, and not otherwise to interfere with it.

• /

Let the little folks play; it does them more good
than anything else they could possibly engage in.

It strengthens their limbs, and keeps their faculties
awake and active. They are brim-full of fun now,
and running over with energy. The time will come
after a while when nature will compel them to sober
down ; now, while they can, let them be active and
Besides, it furnishes a fund of happy mem-

joyous.

584 DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

ories which in after years will be a source of much
strength in times of labor and trouble. Most men

o

who have accomplished great things were in their
boyhood, active, energetic, and fun-loving. A happy
childhood seems to lend a buoyant force to the spirit,
which enables it to rise above the billows of sorrow,
disappointment and danger, that would overwhelm a
weaker soul.

The contrast, in personal appearance and manner,
between a child trained under the winning management
of a wise, firm, commanding love, and another sub¬
jected to the despotic control of fear, is very striking.
In the former, we observe a sprightly eye and open
countenance, with a genial vivacity and trustfulness of
the general expression of the body ; a mixture of

confiding socialty with intelligence, an alacrity of move-

* *

ment, and a healthiness of soul, evinced in generous
activity and smiles. Even if the body be enfeebled,
still a certain bright halo surrounds, as it were, the
mental constitution. But physical, as well as intel¬
lectual vigor and enjoyment, are usually the happy
result of that freedom of heart and generosity of spirit,
which skillful affection endeavors to encourage. Then,
in youth and manhood, a noble intelligence confirms
the propriety of such early training ; but the child who
finds a tyrant instead of a fostering parent, if naturally '
delicate, acquires a timid bearing, a languid gait, a
sallow cheek, a pouting lip, a stupid torpidity, or a
sullen defiance; for Nature’s defense from tyranny is
either hard stupidity or cunning daring.

EDUCATION OF HEAD AND HEART.

5S5

A little later the mental faculties begin to develop
and to need assistance, training and direction. The
cultivation of the mind is as important as that of
the body. A strong body without a strong mind to
guide and control it, would be useless, or worse than
useless. It would be like a river unconfined by banks,
or an engine running without the master hand of the
engineer, — a force incapable of good, but able to do,
and likely to do, much harm. Every parent owes
it, then, to his child, as far as possible, to give him all
the mental culture which he is capable of receiving. It
was just mentioned that the mind is somewhat later in
developing than the body. To be sure, it begins its
growth with the dawn of life, but the growth is slower,
and if healthy, must be based upon that of the body.
This leads us to a criticism upon the treatment of a
great many children by their parents. It is not neces¬
sary, and it is not wise, to crowd the young child’s
mind with abstractions. He can learn his letters and
begin to read at the age of three years, but there are a
great many other things that he had better be doing at
that age. Some of the finest books in the world were
never printed.

Good parent, instead of setting your little one
at work on c-o-w, cow, and o-x, ox, (which, bye
the bye, he is just as apt to get o-x, cow, as any
other way), take him by the hand and lead him
out into the garden, some bright spring morning,
and, showing him the seeds, bid him watch you as
you put them into the ground and cover them up

586 DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

»

with rich warm earth. You may plant the seeds - in
such a way as to form some figure easily recogniz¬
able, in order more strongly to attract his attention.
In a few weeks, lead him out again and show him
the tiny plants just peeping out of the soil, and
forming the same figure he saw when you planted
the seeds. From that time on, have him watch every
stage of the growth of the plant, — how it shoots up,
puts forth leaves, then buds, then comes forth in all
the glory of bloom, and finally withers away. In
like manner, show him the rocks, the streams, the
clouds, the trees, the birds, the sun, the moon, the
stars. Teach him how to use his eyes, and his ears,

* and all his other senses. The reason why the child
says o-x, cow, is because the spelling of words (and
words themselves also) is an abstraction, and he is
not yet ready for that. Show him the cut of an
animal ; — does he say that it is a picture of a horse?
Not at all : he says, that is a horse , and thinks, not
of horses in general, but of the horse in his father’s
stable. Show him the picture of a bison, an animal
which he never saw; — does .he call it an animal?
Again, no : he calls it a cow. The child’s mind
is busy with things, not ideas, and the wisest way
is to let . him work on things ; he will get to ideas
after a while. Do not, then, send your tender four,
or five, or six-year-old to school, where he must
sit still and be told to study, when he doesn’t
know what, studying is. Let him run, and play,
and look at things, and ask questions, and learn

EDUCATION OF HEAD AND HEART. 587

all he can about this world he lives in, and at
the same time get for himself a strong, healthy
body. As proof of the wisdom of this plan, it
may be mentioned that what is known as the half¬
day system is being tried in the primary schools
of many cities ; and it is found that the children
learn quite as much in the half-day as they form¬
erly did in the whole day.

A good example of the effect of pushing the minds
of precocious children, may be found in the life of
Margaret Davidson, the younger of two sisters remark¬
able for their poetical gifts, who died at the ages of
seventeen and fifteen respectively. It is stated of
Margaret, that, “when only in her sixth year, her
language was enervated, and her mind so filled with
poetic imagery and religious thought, that she read
with enthusiasm and elegance, Thomson’s ‘Seasons,’
‘The Pleasures of Hope,’ Cowper’s ‘Task,’ and the
writings of Milton, Byron, and Scott. The sacred
writings were her daily study ; and, notwithstanding
her poetic temperament, she had a high relish for
history, and read with as much interest an abstruse
treatise, that called forth the reflective powers, as she
did poetry or works of imagination. Her physical
frame was delicately constituted to receive impressions,
and her mother was capable of observing and improv¬
ing the opportunity afforded to instruct her. Nothing
was learned by rote, and every object of her thought
was discussed in conversation with a mind sympa¬
thizing with her own. Such a course, however, while

588 DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

it demonstrates the power of the mind, proves also
that such premature employment of it is inconsistent
with the physiology of the body ; for while the spirit
reveled in the ecstacies of intellectual excitement, the
vital functions of the physical frame-work were fatally
disturbed. She read, she wrote, she danced, she sung,
and was the happiest of the happy ; but, while the
soul thus triumphed, the body became more and more
delicate, and speedily failed altogether under the
successive transports.”

The brain of a child, however forward, is totally
unfit for that intellectual exertion to which many fond
parents either force or excite it. Fatal disease is thus
frequently induced ; and where death does not follow,
idiocy, or at least such confusion of faculty ensues,
that the moral perception is obscured, and the sensitive
child becomes a man of hardened vice or of insane
self-will.

But by all means, give them an education, and
they will accumulate fortunes ; they will be a fortune
themselves, to their country. It is an inheritance
Avorth more than gold, for it buys true honor : they
can neither spend nor lose it ; and through life it
proves a friend — in death, a delicate consolation.
Give your children education, and no tyrant will
triumph over your liberties. Give your children
education, and the silver-shod horse of the despot
Avill never trample on the ruins of the fabric of
your freedom.

Especially ought parents to study human nature

EDUCATION OF HEAD AND HEART. 589

and become familiar with the elements of mind that
are common to all. Thus they would be able to see
in the growing child just what parts of his nature
were becoming too strong, which too weak. A child
acts. Now, why did it act so? What motives
moved it ? What are the full and complete mean¬
ings of the habits which the child is forming ? Thus
would parents know where a limb needed pruning,
or where one should be engrafted, to make an even
and a strong topped tree. They would be able to
cure an evil tendency with a virtuous desire, as one
nail drives out another. This work should begin in
the earliest childhood. When a bone is out pf joint,
the longer the setting is forborne, the greater will
the pain of the sufferer be ; indeed, it may be so
long neglected that no skill nor art can set it right
again.

It should be remembered that “The way to destroy
ill weeds is to plant good herbs that are contrary.”
We have all heard of weeds choking the wheat; if we
were wise we should learn from our enemy, and
endeavor to choke the weeds by the wheat. Pre¬
occupation of mind is a great safeguard from temp¬
tation. Fill a bushel with corn and you will keep out
the chaff ; have the heart stored with holy things, and
the vanities of the world will not so readily obtain
a lodging-place. Herein is wisdom in the training of
children. Plant the mind early with the truths of
God’s word, and error and folly will, in a measure,
be forestalled. The false will soon spring up if we do

59°

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

not early occupy the mind with the true. He who said
that he did not wish to prejudice his boy’s mind by
teaching him to pray, soon discovered that the devil
was not so scrupulous, for his boy soon learned to
swear. It is well to prejudice a field in favor of wheat
at the first opportunity. The father of a family once
told Colridge that he had no fears about the future
habits of his children ; he believed they would naturally
come out all right. Shortly afterward Coleridge invited
the gentleman to see his fruit garden. They entered
an inclosure which was overgrown with weeds and
straggling briars, over which the gentleman gazed in
surprise. “ Why, where are your strawberries and
flowers?” said he. “Oh,” said Coleridge, “they will
grow up in the course of nature, after awhile, I guess.

I am waiting patiently for them to appear.”

But that was truly a wise parent who had a work¬
shop for his boys, which was thrown open for them
at certain hours. Little hatchets and augers and
saws were there at no small expense. That father
knew that a child should not be driven to work till
he hates the very name of all useful labor ; and on
the other hand he knew that a confirmed habit of
chasing butter-flies, or spending time in idle company
gives little of benefit ; and is a narrow foundation
upon which to build a good character. Let every
parent read the chapter on “Habit ” (page 329), and
never for one moment forget the responsibility which
is his with reference to the formation of proper
habits in his growing children. Why do children of

ft

EDUCATION OF HEAD AND HEART. 59 1

the same family often differ so widely in the course
of their after life? It is generally nothing but some
little accident which turned the child’s mind into a
special line of thinking while yet a mere child, and
this little impetus grew and gathered force till it
swayed the mind of the young person in making
a choice for life. Verily do little things move the
world. Parents ! will you leave all this to mere acci¬
dents ? Why do you not awaken to these things and
mold the character of your child understanding^ and
skillfully while it is yet like soft clay in your hands ?

EDUCATING THE HEART.

Many parents, and even many of our highest
teachers and educators, give too much time to the
education of the head, while the training of the
heart is neglected. This is one of the gravest faults
of our age. We take great pains to teach our
young folks what they ought to know, but we do
not explain to them how they ought to feel, and
mere chance shapes their sentiments and desires.
This mistake seems to grow out of the fear felt
by many that if they say very much about morals,
or heart-training they will be accused of teaching
religion. This is one of our most shallow-pated
errors. What is here spoken of is no part of relig¬
ion’s business, at all. Even if men in every clime
on earth were to throw their various bibles all
away, it would not change the inherent nature of
man one particle. Man’s mental nature has three

592 DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

distinct branches; the Intellect, the Sensibilities, and
the Will (page 54) ; and wherever one branch is
neglected in its development and education, the
direst results are sure to follow. It is true, that in
the past, the cultivation of the Sensibilities and the
Will, the two higher branches of our nature, has
been left to our religious teachers ; and it is a dis¬
astrous mistake, for the work has been often not
even begun. Sectarianism is on debatable ground,
and rightly so, for it is the business of religion to
be forever in advance of her followers ; — reaching
out into untried realms of the spiritual, purer and
higher. But the question of educating and elevating
the feelings and sentiments of our children and
young people is not open for debate. It is a posi¬
tive duty of to-day. Though your views on relig¬
ion may not be well decided, you dare not close
your eyes and refuse to see two thirds of your own
self, or of the child you have to train. The Intel¬
lect, the Sensibilities, the Will, these three form the
structure of every human being, and neither can be
safely neglected.

Our nation is to-day paying the awful penalty of
too much Intellect or knowledge, and too little of pure
feelings and steadfast principles. Smartness is a curse
to a man who is heartless and willful. Smart, but
unprincipled, men force themselves to the front in our
public affairs and hold themselves there by base means
just long enough to damn the common people with the
contagion of the vile example. The past twenty-five

*

EDUCATING THE HEART. 593

years has seen a. great decay in the direct force of
religious influences, and as the feelings and sentiments
of men and their moral choice in the Will were left
neglected, the result is plain to guess. Poisoned by
evil examples in high places, we now hear some of our
old men, a large majority of our young men, and the
vicious low classes of people everywhere, all saying
loudly, “ money and brains rule the world ! money and
brains!” And by “brains” they mean knowledge,
shrewdness, smartness, and cunning. Is it any wonder
that the ignorant classes, finding themselves no match
for their smarter fellows in cunning and “lawful
dishonesty,” are easily tempted to do violence and
murder to accomplish their desires? The appalling
increase of crime among the lower classes is but the
natural result of vast volumes of the twisting and
evading of law and justice called “lawful dishonesty”
in the higher classes. All are tempted to say, or at
least feel, that “money and smartness rule the world.”

9

How long it will take us as a people to have the stern
fact of this mistake scorched into our understanding,
remains to be seen.

At any rate it is certainly one of the serious
responsibilities hanging upon the hands of every par¬
ent, and every teacher of either the young or old,
to give us men and women whose characters are
evenly developed in all branches. Men and women
who are not only well informed, but whose feelings
are under control, who know which are the lower
or animal forces in their natures, and which are the

38

594 DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

higher and nobler sentiments belonging to the pure
and spiritual side of their being (page 338). The
world needs men and women who understand the
nature and responsibility of their will-power, who
have good habits and know how to mold circum¬
stances to their own advancement and spiritual eleva¬
tion (page 342), who feel the grand impulses of an
immortal life throbbing in their bosoms, who have
genuine force enough, and a knowledge of their own
nature complete enough, to see and feel forever the
folly of the common herd who cry out, “ Money and
smartness rule the world ! ”

Parents will find the hearts of their children much
more easily influenced, and that at a much earlier age,
than their Intellects. The child’s heart begins to be
educated with its mother’s first frown or smile. This
is the field wherein your own daily habits of life
influence the young. Surely no parent dares to rest
till he understands this matter fully, and has his plans
carefully laid for bringing his family up toward a
noble and a perfect life.

It is a delicate thing to train the Sensibilities (page
251), for they work just the same in children as in
older people. While the intellect grows continually,
from birth to death, the emotions, the affections, and
desires come early to maturity. This line of training
can be accomplished only by parents who treat their
children in many respects as they would grown people ;
not losing authority over them by any means, but by
joining with them heartily and completely in some

EDUCATING THE HEART.

595

of their childish plans ; and instead of laughing at
their ideas as being of no consequence, make the
children feel that their life and their work is of real
importance. The boy who is taken into confidence
by a manly father and is talked to by that father
about any branch of the father’s business which the
boy can understand, in a respectful and earnest way,
will be known as a manly boy. Children treated in
this manner will be more likely to confess their mis¬
takes and faults rather than conceal them. It is a
grand thing for a child to have such a confidence
in the wisdom, justice, and love of his parents. He
will not be apt to become anything like a liar, or a
sneak, or a hypocrite. Concealment of acts is a trait
of animals, and shame is the pain that nature inflicts
upon us for acting like animals instead of like a
higher order of beings. Then save the child if you
can, from ever becoming a sly little fox. Fox-like
children make wolfish grown people. Shame and
duplicity debase anyone inwardly. When a child
cannot show a fearless, honest face, he loses his own
self-respect, which is the very fortress of all sound
good character. But when either a child or a grown
person really thinks well of himself — not proudly or
vainly, but well — there is fair hope that he will live
up to that standard of goodness.

Treat children from the very first with truth and
candor. The extremely common habit of laughing at
trickery in children is degrading. It may be well
enough to amuse ourselves with the animal-like antics

596 DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

of cats and dogs, but to place little children on a
level with these, is contemptible. An act that would
deserve punishment in a child of twelve is not excus¬
able, much less laughable, in a child of three.

Above all things be patient with children, that they
may learn what patience is. The American people
are very active, and a great fault with them is impa¬
tience. They forget that the tree that furnishes us the
best grained timber is not of the most rapid growth.
Things of genuine merit and stability come to perfec¬
tion slowly. A perfect manhood or womanhood is
the fruit of a lifetime of patient self-culture. Impa¬
tience leads to much vice. People are too impatient
to wait for solid and eternal pleasure, but snatch at
the pleasures of sin, which are but for a season.
These resemble children who cannot tarry till the
grapes are ripe, and therefore eat them sour and green.
One of the finest lessons for child or man is that in
the sage advice, “ Learn to labor and to wait.”

Kindness should characterize the earliest care of
the young. Children are influenced by the expres¬
sions of the face, and they learn the features of
passion long before they learn any other part of its
language. Their imitative faculties are so active,
and their sympathies so acute, that they uncon¬
sciously assume the expression of face which they
are accustomed to see and Teel. Hence the impor¬
tance that children be habituated to kindness, beauty
and mentality, in those with whom they are domesti¬
cated. Even their playthings and pictures should

EDUCATING THE HEART.

597

be free from depraved meaning and violent expres¬
sion, if we wish them to be lovely ; and all the
hideous, grotesque, and ludicrous pictures which
now vulgarize the public mind should be excluded
from the young. Thus may pure and virtuous
tastes be implanted.

At a later period, when the child’s mind is more
mature, and he is ready for it, send him to school.
Give him, if you can, the best advantages the country
affords in the way of schools, books, teachers, com¬
panions, and other educating influences. Train him
now to think, to deal in abstractions, as well as in
concrete things. Without this power he is only half
educated. He cannot always have before him the
objects about which it is necessary that he should
think. Teach him to gather the thoughts of other
men . from their words, written and spoken. In these
days, nearly all our knowledge is gained from books,
and he who cannot profit by these means of instruction
is mentally a cripple. And, besides, books will be to
him not only a means of gaining material for his work
in life, but also one of the greatest sources of pleasure
that he could possibly have. No one who has not
experienced it can appreciate the delightfulness of
reading and study. It is scarcely less than crime
for a parent to willfully deprive his son or daughter
of this endless source of pure enjoyment.

Teach him also to know and to love the beautiful.
Love of beauty has already been spoken of as one
of the crowning graces of the mind (page 267). It

59§ DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

may be cultivated in various ways, but principally by
making the child’s surroundings beautiful. Trees,
flowers, books, pictures, music, yards neatly laid off,
houses kept clean and orderly. These are a few of
the many items which will contribute to make home
a charming place, and to form in the youthful mind
that love and instinctive recognition of beauty which
is so valuable as an elevating influence, and in • the
prosaic matter of money-making, as well. Those who
have much speaking or writing to do, as for example,
lawyers, ministers, and editors, will produce much
greater results if they are able to clothe their thoughts
in robes of beauty. The chief reason why things made
in France command higher prices than those made
anywhere else, is that the French possess an exquisite
taste, and their manufactures have acquired a world¬
wide reputation for beauty. One of the elements of
A. T. Stewart’s great success as a merchant was the
excellent taste which enabled him to display his stock
in the most attractive ways. Pullman, of palace-car
fame, has made an immense fortune out of his love
of beauty, and is continually piling up more wealth.
One of his most interesting experiments is that of
building a city and making it entirely beautiful. He
seems to be succeeding marvelously, and his town
of Pullman, a few miles from Chicago, is one of the
pleasantest and most profitable places that a tourist in
America can visit.

Besides mental and physical power, it is necessary
that a man should have right habits and right

EDUCATING THE HEART.

599

principles to govern him in the use of that power.
There is no sadder sight than that of a man who is
brilliantly endowed with strength of mind and body,
but who, if governed at all, is governed by loose,
immoral principles. He dashes through the world
like an unbridled steed, trampling under foot every¬
thing that comes in his way, and finally kills himself
by the excess of his mad exertions. The perfect
man must be not only strong, but right in the use
of his strength. His powers must be under full
control of high moral principles. His habits ought
to be such that right doing is natural for him, and
does not require special attention. It is then per¬
haps the highest duty which a man owes to his
child, to cultivate in him such principles and habits
as will render the powers he may have useful to
himself and to the world. He should be carefully
guarded against all temptations to wrong doing,
whether great or small. The little transgression of
the laws of rieht is almost as bad in its effects as
the great one. It blunts the sense of right and
wrong, and renders him each time less sensible to
the moral quality of an action. Against all tempta¬
tions he should be guarded, until his mind and his
principles of action are grown firm enough to keep
him in the right path. But merely to keep him
from the wrong is not enough, he should also be
vigorously trained in the right, by both precept and
example.

Guard the children from evil company in all

t

6oo

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

directions. Many a young person just arriving at the
age of maturity has had a whole after life poisoned
by a few weeks or months in the company of low-
minded “hired help” in the family.

One of the most important habits to be cultivated
it that of industry. Without regular, systematic
habits of labor, a man can accomplish but little,
even though he be most richly gifted with natural
power. His mind will be like the soil of a tropical
land ; under the quickening heat of impulse it may
produce the rarest and most beautiful plants ; ferns
and flowers of the richest hues may shoot up in
wonderful profusion ; but until it is subdued by the
hand of industry, its fertility is of little value to the
world. A great orator once said that the only genius
he possessed was the genius for labor ; and truly it
was a genius to be prized ; without it no other genius
could have made him what he was. “ Persevering
mediocrity is much more respectable, and unspeakably
more useful than talented inconstancy.” Spasmodic
efforts have never been the producers of great results.
The great inventions, the mighty thoughts, the thril¬
ling orations, the wonderful books of the world have
all been wrought out by long, patient, laborious study.
The greatest generals have been those who labored
most constantly and most systematically upon the
plans of their campaigns. The greatest fortunes
have not been the result of flashes of financial genius,
but of systematic labor and habitual economy, united
with an intelligent study of the principles underlying

EDUCATING THE HEART.

601

the business in which each man was engaged. The
parent can be under no obligation much greater than
that of cultivating in his child the ability to labor
constantly and earnestly, and a habit of doing so.
This may be done by encouraging him to perform
all his childish tasks promptly and well, never leaving
anything half done.

There is one branch of education in particular,
which deserves particular mention, and that is, the
training of the young for some especial field of labor
in life. Our young people are not enough impressed
with the idea that the world does not owe them a
living, and that they must earn it. If a life of ease
and comparative idleness were offered, too many would
be weak enough to accept it, and foolishly call it good
fortune.

The American people are not a lazy people. Quite
the contrary. But when we hear such and such a
person spoken of as a very active, wide-awake young
man, in what direction is his activity showing itself?
Is he guided by the conviction that he has an earnest,
sober and important mission to fill in life ? Is his
usefulness crippled by the notion that only certain
kinds of work are worthy of his services? He has
energy and activity, but does he really know how to
do any one thing in an excellent manner? There is
the rub.

See to it, parents, that you do not turn out of your
homes upon the world a lot of almost useless young
men. Society is weakened constantly and sorely by

602

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

the abundance of willing but unskilled labor ; men
would naturally rather work than steal, if their services
were marketable. But when a man has no trade or
profession of which he is master, he is not in the best
condition to support himself in a perfectly honorable
manner.

One of the most melancholy features of modern
American civilization is its product of evil, dawdling,
sickly, useless girls, who, schooled in fashion, flirta¬
tion, and etiquette, and adorned with paint and
ribbons and trinkets, are designed to be married —
just as furniture is designed to sell.

After the preliminary cap-setting and coquetting,
helped forward by parents who are glad to be
delivered of a burden, some luckless wight, beguiled
by tinsel and captivated by craft, is induced to take
one of these creatures for better or for worse —
he hopes it will be for better, he finds out it is
for worse. A wife, but not a woman, she knows
nothing that she needs to know, and can do nothing
that she ought to do. He returns from a day of
toil, to find a half-cooked supper, and an ill-kept
house, and a pouting “ baby ” ready to cry for a
new bonnet or to sigh because she is lonely and
neglected. Her whole life’s training has unfitted
her for her place. Her painting may be fearful,
her embroidery wonderful, and her music terrible ;
but her bread is indigestible, and her beds are not
half made. Supplies of provisions, purchased by his
labor, are wasted or spoiled through her ignorance

EDUCATING THE HEART. 603

and incompetence, and the poor fool who married
in haste repents at his leisure, as he finds that he
has taken to himself not only a useless wife, but
one who, with the aid of a housekeeper can throw
away more with a spoon than he can gather up
with a shovel. Or, perchance, shrinking from the
herculean labor of providing for her to waste, he
gives up the romantic dream of a quiet, happy
home, and gets hustled into a boarding-house, where
short rations, bad bread, saucy servants, exacting
proprietors, high prices, and general discomfort, leave
him with a light pocket, heavy heart, small enjoy¬
ment, and general discontent.

A worthless girl, next to a worthless boy, is one
of the most worthless of worthless things, and many
of them are in the market to-day, and many are the
poor fellows waiting to be made wiser and more
miserable by them.

It is a positive disgrace to any girl to marry a man
when unfitted for the duties of domestic life. It is as
much a shame as for a dunce to open an academy,
a landsman to undertake to command a ship, or a
cobbler to try to build a cathedral. It is taking an
important position when unable to properly perform
its duties, and betraying the trust of those who confide
in the judgment of an incompetent and an imposter.

“ I will,” says the great apostle, “that the younger
women marry, bear children, guide the house , give none
occasion to the adversary to speak reproachfully.”
I. Tim. v. 14. This is the divine plan, and no man can

6c>4 duties of parents and children.

devise one better adapted to the general necessities
of humanity. All efforts to substitute man’s folly for
God’s wisdom end in confusion and disaster. And if
a woman is to “ guide the house,” she must of necessity
understand the things which pertain to its direction,
and the duties which its guidance involves. And
though every woman is not called to be a kitchen
drudge, any more than every man is required to be
a president or a senator, yet, however exalted her
station, or however elevated her tastes and pursuits,
she may be called upon to instruct, advise, and some¬
times to act, and that under circumstances where upon
her skill and tact may hang the question of comfort
or misery, of health or sickness, and perhaps of life
or death.

Any girl, except a natural born or thoroughly
brought-up fool, must know that in entering upon
married life there are new duties and responsibilities
before her, — mental, social, and physical ; and to
undertake to perform these without reflection and
preparation is t6 court a life of discontent and misery
and seek an early grave, over which the disconsolate
husband will simply shed the customary tears of early
widowerhood and then find for himself a new wife, one
that knows something, can do something, and is good
for something.

And it is a burning shame to any mother to bring
up her daughter by her side for a score of years,
and through pride, or carelessness, or laziness, send
her forth without a full knowledge of the arts, the

EDUCATING THE HEART. 605

•

duties, and economies of common housewifery, to
impose upon some inexperienced youth who is taken
in with glittering accomplishments, and led into life¬
long trouble, like a dunce to the correction of the
whipping post. It is an imposition on a husband
and a disgrace to a mother. It is worse than it would
be if a mechanic, with full knowledge of the fact,
should sell a worthless plow, or cart, or wagon ; it
is worse than for a builder to build a worthless house,
or an unseaworthy vessel ; all right-minded people
should look with reproving glance upon such a
person, and say, “ There is a woman who imposed

1

upon an honest man by giving him, when he sought a
wife and a helper, a silly, dawdling, useless girl, who
knew no more about the duties of her station than
a Hottentot knows about the science of astronomy.”

To do this is a shame, yea, more, it is a sin ! And

if the domestic infidelity, the lack of natural affection,

«

the scarcity of happy homes, the prevalence of unlaw¬
ful intimacies, adulteries and divorces, and the curse
of wretched, ill-begotten, and ill-trained children, with
all the misery, jargon, and the trouble that fill this
world, and roll their tide of darkness on to judg¬
ment and to death, were analyzed and traced to their
primal sources, no small proportion of them would
be laid at the door of neglectful mothers and their
worthless girls, whose introduction into family life
saps the foundation of domestic peace and comfort,
and taints the whole fabric with misery and perdi¬
tion. Parents, have you any useless girls?

6o6

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

Another of the valuable habits to be inculcated,
is that of perseverance. The youth should be taught
never to desert a thing he has undertaken until he
has completely accomplished it or conclusively proven
its impossibility. When Mr. Gladstone, prime min¬
ister of England, and one of the greatest statesmen,
as well as one of the greatest scholars, of his age,
was a boy, his father took great pains to instill into
him this habit of perseverance, and also that of
thoughtful attention.

The trouble he took to convince people of things
which often did not seem worth a dispute, were among
the noticeable traits of his character ; but this fondness
for reasoning had been purposely fostered in him by
his father. Mr. John Gladstone liked that his children
should exercise their judgment by stating the why and
wherefore of every opinion they offered, and a college
friend of William’s who went on a visit to Fasque, in
Kincardineshire, during the summer of 1829, furnishes
amusing particulars of the family customs in that
house, “where the children and their parents argued
upon everything.” They would debate as to whether
the trout should be boiled or broiled, whether a
window should be opened, and whether it was likely
to be fine or wet next day. It was all perfectly good-
humored, but curious to a stranger, because of the
evident care which all the disputants took to advance
no proposition, even as to the prospect of rain, rashly.
One day Thomas Gladstone knocked down a wasp
with his handkerchief and was about to crush it on the

EDUCATING THE HEART. 6oj

table, when the father started the question as to
whether he had the right to kill the insect; and this
point was discussed with as much seriousness as if a
human life had been at stake. At last it was adjudged
that the wasp deserved death because he was a tres¬
passer in the drawing-room, and a common enemy
and a danger there.

On another occasion, William Gladstone and his
sister Mary, disputed as to where a certain picture
ought to be hung. An old Scotch servant came in
with a ladder and stood irresolute while the argument
progressed ; but as Miss Mary would not yield,
William gallantly ceased from speech, though uncon¬
vinced, of course. The servant then hung up the
picture where the young lady ordered ; but when he
had done this, he crossed the room and hammered a
nail into the opposite wall. He was asked why he
did this : “ Aweel, Miss, that’ll do to hang the picture
on when ye’ll have come roond to Master Willie’s
opeenion.”

The family generally did come round to William’s
opinion, for the resources of his tongue-fencing were
wonderful, and his father, who admired a clever feint
as much as a straight thrust, never failed to encour¬
age him by saying: “Hear, hear; well said, well put,
Willie!” — if the young debater bore himself well in
an encounter. Another thing which Mr. John Glad¬
stone taught his children, was to accomplish to the
end whatever they might begin, no matter how
insignificant the undertaking might be. Assuming

s

608 DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

that the enterprise had been commenced with a
deliberate, thoughtful purpose it would obviously be
weakness to abandon it, whereas if it had been
entered upon without thought it would be useful to
carry it through as a lesson against acting without
reflection. The tenacity with which William Glad¬
stone adhered to this principle exercised, no doubt,
a beneficial moral discipline upon himself, but was
frequently very trying to his companions. “ At

Fasque,” says his friend, “we often had archery

practice, and the arrows that went wide of the

targets would get lost in the long grass. Most* of
us would have liked to collect only the arrows that
we could find without trouble, and then begin shoot-
ing again ; but this was not William’s way. He
would insist that all the arrows should be found
before we shot our second volleys, and would
marshal us in Indian file and make us tramp about
in the grass till every quiver had been refilled.

Once we were so long in hunting for a particular
arrow that dusk came on and we had to relinquish
the search. The next morning, as I was dressing,

I saw through my window William ranging the field
and prodding into every tuft of grass with a stick.
He had been busy in this way for two hours-, and
at length he found the arrow just before breakfast.

I remarked that he had wasted a good deal of time :
Wes, and no,’ he said. ‘I was certain the arrow
could be found if I looked for it in a certain way,
but it was the longest way, and I failed several

4

%

\

EDUCATING THE HEART. 609

times by trying shorter methods. When I set to
work in the proper fashion, I succeeded.’ ‘ Well
done, Willie ! ’ concurred his always appreciative
father.”

It was the same at Oxford. Gladstone would

start for a walk to some place eight miles distant,
and make up his mind to go “ at least more than
half the way.” Rain might fall in torrents (a seri¬
ous matter in those days when no undergraduate
ever carried an umbrella), but this would not shake
him from his purpose ; so long as he had not
passed his fourth mile-post nothing would make him
turn' back. Directed toward higher objects, this
stubbornness could be dignified with the name of
perseverance, and it was a master quality that kept
all Gladstone’s friends in subjection to him more or
less. Those who would not give in to him from
reason, would do so to avoid a contest — this being
a world in which there are more earthen pots than
iron ones, and the earthen try to escape collisions
when they can. Besides, Gladstones intense con¬
viction of being always in the right, gave him an
assured superiority over young men who did not
ponder very deeply over their opinions and were
not prepared to defend them against vigorous
onslaughts. “ Gladstone seems to do all the think¬
ing for us,” Frederick Rogers once said; “the only
trouble is that when he starts some new idea, he
expects you to see all its beauties at once as
clearly as he does after studying them.” Years
39

6io

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

✓

afterward, when Mr. Gladstone had become Prime
Minister, another old college friend observed : “ You
must know Gladstone to understand how much it
costs him to give up any clause in a bill which he
has framed. He hates compromise as a concession
of good to evil. He cannot acknowledge half-truths
or admit the value of half-good. What grieves him
is, not the humiliation of being beaten by his sys¬
tematic foes, but the misery of having failed to
convince those who profess to be his friends- and
to let themselves be guided by him ; and again
when he surrenders a particle of what he considers
right, he is at war with his restive conscience, ask¬
ing himself whether he was morally justified in
yielding to serve party ends.”

Honesty is a trait of character which should be
assiduously cultivated in children. Teach them to be
always fair and upright in their dealings with their
playmates, and everybody else with whom they are
brought into contact. Never allow them to cheat in
their games ; it is laying the foundation for deceit in
weightier matters of after-life. Encourage them to be
frank and manly in confessing their share in any of the
escapades that children are so apt to engage in. Show
them that it is better to undergo punishment, if that
should be the result of their straightforwardness, than
to escape it by lying. Show them that dishonesty is
low and cowardly, while honesty is brave and noble.

Carefulness is a quality closely allied to honesty, if,
indeed, it is not identical with it, and it should receive

EDUCATING THE HEART.

6l I

the same attention. The man who does his work
in a slipshod manner is dishonest ; he is cheating-
his employer, or the consumer of his goods, as the case
may be. The child should be required to do all his
work carefully and accurately. The habit of pains¬
taking is one of the easiest to acquire with proper
training, and it should not be neglected.

A powerful auxiliary in training a child may be
found in his associations. When he can be led to
select his companions among children whose tendencies
are good, a long step has already been taken toward
making a good man of him. On the other hand,
it is hard indeed to make anything out of one who
habitually and from choice mingles with those whose
tendencies are toward evil things. The utmost care
should, then, be taken in directing the boy or girl into
the best society obtainable.

Respect

UTUAL

A duty which parents and children owe to each
other is that of mutual respect. It is painful to

hear a child speak of his father as “ Dad,” “ Pap,”

“The Guv’ner,” or “The Old Man,” or to hear
him call his mother by the not very euphonious
titles of “Mam,” or “The Old Woman.” A child
ought to venerate his father and mother. One of
the most beautiful features in the character of the
excellent, but much-maligned Thomas Carlyle, was
the deep love and thorough respect which he bore

6l2

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

his poor old father and mother. To him, none of
the great men with whom he associated, could

equal his own father working in his field in home-
spun frock, or building with honest care the bridge
of which he tells in his “ Reminiscences.” No
woman was so fair to him as the mother who was
always worrying lest her Thomas might not be a
good Christian. The person who does not think

his father brave and talented, and his mother good
and beautiful, is to be pitied. The child ought
always to be ready to show his affection and rev¬
erence for those who gave him birth by yielding
to them, and striving to gratify all their wishes,
and when they are old and need to lean upon

him, he should carefully and reverently support their
declining years. On the other hand, it is almost

as bad for the parent to have no respect for the
feelings and wishes of his child. And the parent
who allows his child no liberty, but keeps him
constantly engaged in the gratification of his own
whims, regardless of what the child’s plans and

desires may be, is as brutal as the child who fails

in the respect due to his father and mother. The
parent should have respect enough for and con¬
fidence enough in, his child, to allow him to follow

his own inclinations in non-essential matters. Petty
tyranny is entirely out of place in the family circle ;
there, as in the political government, the proper
amount of active rule is the least amount that will
answer the purposes. A man must be capable of

MUTUAL RESPECT.

613

self-government ; otherwise certainly he is not fit to
exercise his right as a voter. The proper time for
him to acquire this ability to govern himself is
during the years of his youth, and the only known
method of learning anything thoroughly is practice ;
therefore the child ought properly to be allowed to
govern himself as much as possible.

SlSCIPLINE.

One of the most vexed questions with which the
parent has to do, is that of discipline. As the
citizen is subject to his government and must obey
it, the child, who is an embryo citizen, should be
trained in obedience. It certainly is the parent’s
duty to enforce obedience to all commands. Unjust
or trivial commands should not be given ; only such
orders should be issued as mean something and
have a solid basis of reason, and to those, com¬
plete submission should be required. The parent
who is constantly telling his children to do this,
that, or the other thing, and then not compelling
obedience, is giving them a very bad education.
It is his duty to be firm, but not rough ; as has
been said before, firmness is perfectly compatible
with gentleness. The child should know that his
parent will not make any unreasonable demands,
but that whenever one is made, it is as absolute as
the laws of the Medes and Persians, and must be
complied with. But in the course of events it often

6 14 DUTIES TO PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

happens that a square issue arises between parent
and child ; now whose will is to be supreme ? The
parent’s, of course. But how is he to make it
supreme? By persuasion, if possible; by force, if
necessary. I cannot but believe that some of the
humanitarians (to whom be all praise for the good
they have done) go too far in their opposition to
punishment. However gentle and mild we may be,
however averse to harsh measures, there must be at
the bottom of it all a good foundation of force.
It is the same with individuals as with nations.
Whoever cannot protect himself and maintain his
rights, is apt to be imposed upon whenever it suits
anybody’s convenience to make him the object of
imposition. The child must understand that the
parent has all the force necessary for use in any
emergency. And if necessary, let him feel that
force, until he fully realizes its presence. A recent
writer makes an excellent suggestion on this point.
He says: “ Hold a child sometimes by main force.
This may give the idea of a resistless force without
any of the cruelty of blows, or the fierceness of
passion.”

Proper punishment, properly administered, is the
most convincing proof the child can have of the
parent’s power and love. “ For, whom the Lord loveth
he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he
receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with
you as with sons ; for what son is he whom the father
chasteneth not?” Punishment should be administered

DISCIPLINE.

615

in kindness and not in anger. It should be sufficient
to induce full submission, no more and no less. Thus
used, it may become the instrument of very great
good, and in after years the parent will receive the
blessings of the child for the very pain inflicted. The
pain which may be likened to that caused by the thorns
of a hedge-row, which drive back the tender lambs,
and thus protect them from the dangers that lurk
without.

JBotual Hove and Kindness.

The final duty, the one which, in its highest degree,
includes all the others, is mutual love and kindness.
This is the spirit which should pervade the home and
rule all the actions of its inmates. Children should be
made to feel that they are not intruders in the house,
that they are welcome there. They should be allowed
to romp and play and have a fine time occasionally,
even if it costs a little trouble. It is their nature, and
the source of their greatest happiness. Their noise is
annoying sometimes, but they will get quiet and sober
soon enough. Look kindly then upon their childish
sports ; do not scold them for the confusion they
cause ; take part in their games when you can ; it will
cheer and encourage them more than you know.
Sympathize with them when in trouble and soothe
them when in pain. Let them see that you take more
interest in them and love them better than anybody
else. Be ready to help them in their innocent little

6i6

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

projects, encourage their feeble attempts to do things
for themselves. Remember it was his mothers kiss
that led Benjamin West on and made him a great
painter. Do not occupy their whole time in your
service. Let them have leisure for their own amuse¬
ments and studies. Let them have, if at all possible, a
room for themselves, where they may be sovereign,
and reign with absolute sway over their little king¬
dom of dolls, hobby-horses, whistles, and dishes ; and
whither, a few years later, they may retire to think »
in seclusion. Perhaps the greatest benefit received
by young men who go away to college, is not the
instruction of their teachers, but the opportunity of
having a room to themselves, where they can be alone
with their own thoughts whenever it may best suit
them.

Look at the man who has made one fortune but
does not consider it large enough, and is now busy
making another. He is off to work at eight A. M.,
never returning tin eight P. M., and then so worn and
jaded that he cares for nothing beyond his dinner and
his sleep. His beautiful house and pleasure-grounds
give him no delights ; he never enjoys, he only pays
for them. He has a charming wife and a youthful

family, but he sees little of either — the latter, indeed,

*

he never sees at all except on Sundays. He comes
home so tired that the children would only worry him.
To them “papa” is almost a stranger. They know
him only as a periodical encumbrance on the home-
life, which generally makes it much less pleasant. And

MUTUAL LOVE AND KINDNESS. 6 1 7

when they grow up, it is to an existence so totally
different from his that they usually quietly ignore him.
“ Oh ! papa cares nothing about this. No, no ; we
never think of telling papa anything.” Until some day
papa will die and leave them a quarter of a million.
But how much better to leave them what no money can
buy — the remembrance of a father ! A real father,
whose guardianship made home safe ; whose tenderness
filled it with happiness ; who was companion and friend
as well as ruler and guide ; whose influence penetrated
every day of their lives, every feeling of their hearts ;
who was the pattern, the examplar, the originator and
educator of everything good in them ; the visible father
on earth, who made them understand dimly “ Our
Father, who art in heaven.”

Your life is crowded with duties and labors (and
whose is not ?), but you can surely find an hour, or
a half hour, at least, somewhere in the day, which you
can give to your family, when your children can feel
free to climb up into your arms and frolic as gaily
as they please. Try it and thus not only endear your¬
self to your little ones, but also bring back into your
own soul the dewy freshness of childhood. You will
find it a veritable elixir of youth. How beautiful was
the family custom embalmed by Longfellow in his
“ Children’s Hour!”

“Between the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower,

Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,

That is known as the children’s hour.

6i8

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

“ I heai in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is opened,

And voices soft and sweet.

“From my study I see in the lamplight,
Descending the broad hall stair, —
Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,

And Edith with golden hair.

“ A whisper, and then a silence :

Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

“A sudden rush from the stairway,

A sudden raid from the hall !

By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall !

They climb up into my turret

O’er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me ;
They seem to be everywhere.

“ They almost devour me with kisses,
Their arms about me entwine,

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

“ Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old mustache as I am
Is not a match for you all ?

“ I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart,

But put you down in the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

MUTUAL LOVE AND KINDNESS. 619

“ And there will I keep you forever,

Yes, forever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

And molder in dust away ! ”

These principles being duly observed, the highest
pleasure can be obtained from the parental relation,
and we shall have also the satisfaction of seeingr
our children grow up to the richest manhood and
womanhood. And surely our labors will not be in
vain, for the time will soon come when our greatest
joy will be the hearty love and respect which dutiful
children so happily render to their aged relatives.
Many an old person has had his path to the grave
cleared and lightened by the kind attentions of the
young. Longfellow never tired of the society of
children ; many of his finest poems were written in
their honor. Goethe, bereft of nearly all old friends,
found solace in the loving companionship of his
daughter-in-law, Ottilie, who, in the words of his
biographer, “ devoted herself to cheer his solitude,”
reading aloud to him from the ever interesting pages
of his favorite books. >

The children of to-day will carry into the distant
future just such pictures of us as we now have
of our own early experiences. We remember our
parents for the real common sense service they did
us when we were children, and for the purity of
their hearts, and their genuine love for us. It is
not the wealthy homes and extended possessions of
our father’s, or the fine fashionable clothing of our

620

DUTIES OF PARENTS AND CHILDREN.

mother’s, that clings to our dearest memories of
childhood !

Thank God, some of us had an old-fashioned
mother. Not a woman of the period, enameled and
painted, with her great chignon, her cuffs and bustle,
whose white, jeweled hand never felt the clasp of
baby fingers* but a dear old-fashioned, sweet-voiced
mother, with eyes in whose clear depth the love-
light shone, and brown hair, just threaded with silver,
lying smooth upon her faded cheek. These dear
old hands, worn with toil, gently guiding our tottered
steps in sickness; even reaching out in yearning
tenderness to when her sweet spirit was baptized
in the early spray of the river. Blessed is the
memory of an old-fashioned mother. It floats to
us now like the beautiful perfume from woodland
blossoms. The music of other voices may be lost,
but the entrancing memory of hers echoes to our
soul forever.

Other faces may fade and be forgotten, but hers
shall shine on until the light from heaven’s portals
will glorify our own. When the fitful pauses of
busy feet wander back to the old homestead and
cross the well-worn threshold, stand once more in
the low, quaint room, so hallowed by her presence,
how the feeling of childish innocence and depend¬
ence comes over us, and we kneel down in the
molten sunshine streaming in at the window — just
where long years ago we knelt down by our mother’s
knee, lisping “ Our Father.”

(& © E T IH1 E AW© ©TTDLDE

MUTUAL LOVE AND KINDNESS.

621

How many times, when the tempter lures us on,
has the memory of that sacred hour, that mother’s
words — her prayers — saved us from plunging into
the deep abyss of sin. Years have filled great
drifts between her and us, but they may not have
hidden from our sight the glory of pure, unselfish
love. Parents, yours is a grand responsibility !

FORBEARANCE AND KINDNESS.

LOSELY connected as they are, differ¬
ences of opinion and interest must of
necessity often occur, and to soften the
harsh feelings which are liable to be pro¬
duced by such occurrences, there is need
of a great fund of patience and love.
Quarreling among members of the same
family is one of the most disgusting
sights by which our eyes are ever pained,
and it is at the same time one entirely
too frequent. Where all ought to show
sweetness and harmony, it is a shame
to see bitterness, discord, and constant
wrangling. Brothers and sisters ought
always to be ready to overlook and pardon the
little offenses which they receive from one another.
They are the result, not of malice and hatred, but
of thoughtlessness ; and it is foolish to be angered
by them. Besides their readiness to forgive injuries
they should seek opportunities of obliging and accom¬
modating one another. Opportunities occur almost

every hour for each to do something that will make

*

the others happier, and they should be improved.

FORBEARANCE AND KINDNESS. 623

Brothers and sisters should exercise a watchful care,
and be always ready to give honest advice upon sub¬
jects that concern the welfare of one another. How
beautiful is the home where the spirit of self-denial
and helpfulness is the ruling spirit. People reared
in such homes are not the ones who fill our prisons
and alms-houses ; they are the best of every com¬
munity ; their youthful training has formed them into
happy, peace-loving citizens.

feovE and Unity.

There is something transcendently virtuoirs in the
affection of a high-hearted brother toward his gentle,
amiable sister. He can feel unbounded admiration
for her beauty — he can appreciate and applaud the
kindness which she bestows on himself — he can
press her bright lips and her fair forehead, and
still feel that she is unpolluted ; he can watch the
blush steal over her features with pleasure when he
tells her of her innocent follies, and he can clasp
her to his bosom in consolation when the tears
gush from her overloaded heart. With woman there
is always a feeling of pride mingled with the regard
which she has for her brother. She looks upon him
as one fitted to brave the tempest of the world, as
one to whose arm of protection she can fly for
shelter when she is stricken by sorrow, wronged, or
oppressed, as one whose honor is connected with
her own, and who durst not see her insulted with

624 DUTIES OF BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

impunity. He is to her as the oak is to the vine,
and, though she may fear all others of mankind,
she is secure and confident in the love and counte¬
nance of her brother.

No purer feeling is ever kindled upon the altar of

human affection, than a sister’s pure, uncontaminated

*

love for her brother. It is unlike all other affection ;
so disconnected with selfish sensuality ; so feminine
in its development, so dignified, and yet, withal, so
fond, so devoted. Nothing can alter it, nothing can
suppress it. The world may revolve, and its revolu¬
tion effect changes in the fortunes, in the character,
and in the disposition of her brother ; yet if he wants,
whose hand will so readily stretch out to supply him
as a sister’s ? And if his character is maligned, whose
voice will so readily swell in his advocacy? Next to
a mother’s unquenchable love, a sister’s is pre-eminent.
It rests so exclusively on the tie of consanguinity for
its sustenance ; it is so wholly divested of passion,
and springs from such a deep recess in the human
bosom, that when a sister once fondly and deeply
regards her brother, that affection is blended with
her existence, and the lamp that nourishes it expires
only with that existence. In all the annals of crime,
it is considered anomalous to find the hand of a
sister raised in anger against her brother, or her
heart nurturing the seeds of hatred, envy, or revenge
in regard to that brother.

Iuties of Rasters and Servants.

HE relation of master and servant has
been one of the most troublesome from
the earliest times. Many systems of labor
have prevailed in different periods of the
world’s history, and as many different views
of the reciprocal duties of masters and
servants have been held. The system of
absolute slavery having been abolished in
most civilized countries, the duties applying
to that system need not now be discussed. The
method of procuring labor to be done, now in vogue
throughput the world, is that of hiring people to do
it at fixed rates ; and it is a method that is by no
means free from difficulties and annoyances, and the
troubles which surround it seem to be growing rather
than diminishing. As Carlyle has said : “Obedience
cannot be bought with money. Without real masters
you cannot have servants ; and a master is not
made by thirty pieces or thirty million pieces of
silver ; only a sham master is so made.” But
obedience is a thing which lies at the very basis
of all systems of labor.

Genuine obedience can come only from those

persons who do not want a living in this world
40 625

626

DUTIES OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS.

without honestly earning it, and hence are willing
to give their faithful services for a just price ; and
are then capable of entering into sympathy with
the wishes of their employer, and thus, in their real
desire to be useful, they yield him perfect obedi¬
ence so far as their tasks are concerned. These
intelligent and sensible sentiments in the heart of
the employe, when put up against the wages of the
employer, give us the only proper master and the
only honorable, undebased servant.

It is necessary in all civilized society that some
persons make plans and lay out a line of life requir¬
ing the aid of others. But when you offer me
wages for my aid and, I accept them in the spirit
of the sentiments expressed above, I am in no way
degraded thereby. We are both elevated by our
partnership in toil. Nothing can disgrace either but
a dishonest failure to live up to agreements. The
idea that a hired laborer is on that account beneath
us, is a dirty bit of clay that still hangs to the
garments of civilization from the days when slavery
was common in the world. To be a slave is indeed
debasing, and if it debases the slave, it also as
surely works damage of some dire sort upon the
master. The notion that hired service is not com¬
pletely respectable is very rapidly dying out of the
earth, and very soon it will be customary to speak
entirely of employer and employe ; or, if we use the
old words, “master” and “servant,” they will be
robbed of their old-time meaning. The troubles

DUTIES OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS. 627

spoken of above will all disappear when people are
honest enough not to take improper advantages, or
to act on the thieving principle that the world owes
them a living before they have earned it.

It only remains to be seen under what circum¬
stances the best possible results can be obtained
from the present method of hiring labor. The
principles of which we shall speak in this connec¬
tion, deserve to be regarded for two reasons : first,
because they are right and are due from each to
the other as from man to man ; and second, because
it is policy, as the observance of them will secure
the best possible results from the present order of
things.

Respect and Kindness of Employers.

The first duty which the employer owes to his
employe is that of kind treatment. The poorest of
laborers has just as much right to be kindly treated
as the richest of capitalists, and if he is not so treated
he will naturally feel outraged and will have no affec¬
tion 'for his employer, and consequently will have no
desire to please him by working much and well.
On the other hand, the one who deals gently and
graciously with those whom he employs, will receive
their gratitude, and the work which they perform for
him will be increased in both quantity and quality.

The second duty, of equal importance to the first
is that of patience. A servant must necessarily

628

DUTIES OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS.

make many mistakes ; we make many mistakes our¬
selves, and it is not fair to expect them to do what
we cannot. It is both wrong and unprofitable for
a master to scold and threaten every time his servant
fails to do just as he should like to have done.
All corrections should be made in a gentle, pleasant
way, and not as if a poorly cooked dish or a broken
rake were an unpardonable offense. Requests should
be made in a polite, considerate manner. It is just
as necessary to thank servants for their services as
to thank anyone else. Waiters soon learn to know
who treats them with respect, and they treat him
in the same way. If you would get efficient service
in a public house, do not fume and fret at every
trifling annoyance, but observe all the little courtesies
which go to make life pleasant. When the Duke
of Wellington was sick, the last thing he took was
a little tea. On his servant handing it to him in a
saucer, and asking him if he would have it, the
Duke replied, “Yes, if you please.” These were his
last words. If he, the victor of Waterloo, the great¬
est conqueror of Europe, would use such language
to a domestic, need we feel above doing so? The
fact is, it is always those who are ill-bred 'that are
impolite and rude in dealing with those who serve
them. Says Sir Arthur Helps, in one of his essays:
“ You observe a man becoming day by day richer,
or advancing in station, or increasing in professional
reputation, and you set him down as a successful
man in life. But if his home is an ill-regulated one,

RESFECT AND KINDNESS OF EMPLOYERS. 629

where no links of affection extend throughout the
family, whose former domestics (and he has had
more of them than he can well remember) look back
upon their sojourn with him as one unblessed by
kind words or deeds, I contend that that man has
not been successful. Whatever good fortune he may
have in the world, it is to be remembered that he
has always left one important fortress untaken behind
him.”

Lastly, a man should furnish to his employes suit¬
able materials and tools for their work. A servant
who, like Maitre Jacques, is required to prepare
a banquet without money to buy the necessary
materials, cannot rightly be blamed for failing.
Furthermore, “the servant is worthy of his hire,”
and ought to receive it promptly and fully ; his
means are usually confined to the wages of his
daily labor, and it is a serious inconvenience to
him, if, through the negligence or dishonesty of his
employer, he is compelled to wait for his money.

©BEDIENCE AND f AITHFULNESS.

In fulfillment of his contract, and in return for
kind treatment on the part of the employer, the
employe owes a variety of duties. One of them is
obedience. Unquestionably the master has a right
to the services of any one he has employed, for so
much time as he has paid for. And he has a right to
use the servant in any proper way that he pleases,

630 DUTIES OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS.

N

unless indeed, as is quite common, he has hired him
to do only a certain kind of work, in which case he
cannot claim any other kind. Unquestionably also,
a man has a right to demand that his own work
shall be done in any certain way that he may direct,
and it is the servant’s duty to do it in that way,
regardless of his own opinions ; if he is not willing
to do this, it is his privilege to resign.

Right here, however, a distinction is made between
professional labor and common labor. Professional
labor is that in which the principal ingredient is skill,
and includes such work as that of lawyers, physi¬
cians, preachers, teachers, editors, public officers, and,
in a less degree, . the various handicrafts, as black-
smithing, carpentering, and the like. The accepted
doctrine, indeed, is that in the case of professional
labor, the one employed is held responsible for
results, but is not in any way answerable for the
methods. If I employ a physician to attend a mem¬
ber of my family, I am right in demanding of him
a cure, if one is possible, but I may not in any
manner interfere with the course of treatment. My
only remedy is to dismiss the physician and employ
another one, if I think the results are not entirely
satisfactory. So, again, the patrons of a school have
no right, under ordinary circumstances, to meddle
with its management. If it does not correspond
with their ideas of what a school should be, they
may withdraw their children from it and send them
elsewhere, and they may refuse to re-employ the

OBEDIENCE AND FAITHFULNESS.

teacher ; in some extraordinary cases, they may even

take legal means to displace him before the con-

1 \

tract time of •teaching expires. In like manner, the
practice of instructing congressmen and senators, is
a pernicious one.

A congressman is elected because he is supposed
to have a better knowledge of public affairs, and
better .judgment in regard to them, than anybody
■else that can be obtained for the office. Besides, he,
being upon the field of action, will naturally understand
the measures upon which he is called to vote far
better than his constituents at home. It was a noble
act in Macaulay, when he was a candidate for Parlia¬
ment, and was desired to pledge himself to a certain
policy, to absolutely refuse to do so. Here is what
he says, in a letter to an elector who had written to

him on the subject : “ I wish to add a few words

touching a question which has lately been much
canvassed; I mean the question of pledges. In this
letter, and in every letter which I* have written to
my friends at Leeds, I have plainly declared my

opinions. But I think it, at this conjuncture, my duty
to declare that I will give no pledges. I will not
bind myself to make or to support any particular
motion. I will state as shortly as I can some of
the reasons which have induced me to form this

determination.

“The great beauty of the representative system is
that it unites the advantages arising from a division
of labor. Just as a physician understands medicine

632 DUTIES OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS.

better than an ordinary man, just as a shoemaker
makes shoes better than an ordinary man, so a person
whose life is passed in transacting affairs of state
becomes a better stateman than an ordinary man.
In politics, as well as every other department of life,
the public ought to have the means of checking
those who serve it. If a man finds that he derives
no benefit from the prescription of his physician, he
calls in another. If his shoes do not fit him, he
changes his shoemaker. But when he has called in
a physician of whom he hears a good report, and
whose general practice he believes to be judicious,
it would be absurd in him to tie down that physician
to order particular pills and particular draughts.
While he continues to be the customer of a shoe¬
maker, it would be absurd in him to sit by and mete
every motion of that shoemaker’s hand. And in
the same manner, it would, I think, be absurd in
him to require positive pledges, and to exact daily
and hourly obedience, from his representative. My
opinion is, that electors ought at first to choose
cautiously, then to confide liberally ; and, when the
term for which they have selected their member
has expired, to review his conduct equitably, and to
pronounce on the whole taken together.

“ If the people of Leeds think proper to repose
in me that confidence which is necessary to the
proper discharge of the duties of a representative,
I hope that I shall not abuse it. If it be their
pleasure to fetter their members by positive prom-

OBEDIENCE AND FAITHFULNESS.

ises, it is in their power to do so. I can only say
that on such terms I cannot conscientiously serve
them.”

But in the case of common labor, the servant is
responsible to his master for results, and also for
methods, and he should yield absolute obedience to
the master’s wishes about matters relating to his.
employment.

Honesty of Servants.

Another duty is honesty of the employe in all his.
dealings. Honesty does not mean simply that he
shall not steal or cheat his master out of money and
commodities ; it means also that he shall make his.
master’s interests his own, that he shall do his work
as thoroughly and economically as if he were doing
it for himself. The greatest stigma that rests upon
those who in this country are called “hired girls,” is
the fact that it seems to be their highest object to
get the greatest possible wages and do the least
possible work, and to do that little work in the
most slip-shod manner they can without losing their
situations. They too often have no desire to promote
the interest of their employers ; they seem to think
that since they do not have to pay the household
expenses, economy is a useless bother. It seems.

i

strange that they cannot realize that their interests
and those of their employers are identical. A girl
who would work honestly and neatly and without

634 DUTIES OF MASTERS AND SERVANTS.

useless extravagance, could, without any trouble, com¬
mand wages twice as high as those which the market
has placed upon careless, slovenly, extravagant girls.

We may very well sum up these directions for
the securing of pleasant relations between masters
and servants in these words from Fuller: “If thou
art master, be sometimes blind ; if a servant, some¬
times deaf.” Be mutually patient with each other.

0UTIES OF f EHCRER RKD iUFIL.

THE TEACHER’S WORK.

ONSIDERABLE has already been said con¬
cerning the importance of education. Its
utility as a happiness producer and power
giver has been shown. But the subject is
one that it would be somewhat difficult to
overdo. The problem of education is the
great practical problem of the age. It is beginning
to be felt that the first and fundamental step toward
a good government is a good school system. It
was Wordsworth who called the child the father of
the man. Look well to your children, then ; it is hard
to make good men out of bad boys. The child’s mind
is plastic, and may be molded into almost any shape,
for good or for evil ; the man’s is hard and fixed. The
child is a sapling, which the slenderest thread will
suffice to hold straight or to bend and twist ; the man
is that sapling grown older and stronger, and retaining
to its latest day much of the form given it in its youth.
If a child receives a cut on his arm, the scar will remain
plainly marked through all the years of manhood and
•old age. The mind is not less susceptible of injury,

or less tenacious of the scar. Watch, then, that the

685

636 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

thread of influence may pull the young mind in the
right direction, and that no scar may be left upon it..
How great is the urgency of the demand for education
in this country may be seen from the following extract
from Joseph Cook :

“ Of the ten million voters in the United States, one
in five cannot write his name. The nation is charged
with the education of eighteen million of children
and youth. Of these, ten million -five hundred thou¬
sand are enrolled in public and private schools, but the
average attendance is only six million ; seven million
five hundred thousand, or five-twelfths of the whole, are
growing up in absolute ignorance of the English alpha¬
bet. At the present rate of increase of the number of
children not attending school, there will in ten years
be more children in the United States out of schools
than in them. In all but five of the states there
were enough illiterate voters to have reversed the
result of the last presidential election in each of these
states. Thirty-two per cent of the voters in the south
are illiterate. Of these, seventy per cent are colored
and thirty are whites. In spite of all the appliances of
education, the increase of illiterate voters in the south
from 1870 to 1880 was one hundred and eighty-seven
thousand six hundred and seventv-one. In more than
one third of the Union the ignorant voters are almost
one third of the total number of voters. National aid
to education is the only adequate remedy for the
national evil of ignorance. I have come recently from
distant lands, and I have found that many a country on

THE TEACHER'S WORK.

^37

earth is much more sensitive to its illiteracy than we
appear to be to that of our own nation. At this
moment Greece expends more for her common schools,
in proportion to her wealth, than we do. So does
Japan, and the latter country has a larger proportion
of children in school than we have. As a nation, we
are not in advance of Prussia in expenditures for
common schools, and even England and Scotland are
verging close upon New England in their taxes for the
abolition of illiteracy. The truth is that, instead of
being, as a whole, at the front of the educational
advance of civilization, our proud nation is gradually
dropping into a laggard place.”

That is an alarming condition of affairs in a country
like ours, where the people have a larger share in
the conduct of government than they have anywhere
else on the globe. Illiteracy is the great danger of
America. How can a fool make a good ruler? and yet
the vote of the completest idiot counts just as much
as that of an Emerson or a Bancroft, a Webster or
a Calhoun. It is mostly the illiterates who form the
purchasable part of our voting population. It is
mostly the illiterates who fill our prisons. Mobs are
generally composed of the uneducated ; very seldom
is a riot made up of any other class. Drunkenness
and licentiousness, though they extend to all classes
of people, are most commonly the vices of the igno¬
rant, who can find no more attractive way of spending
their time. “ One of the hugest needs of this country,”
says Joseph Cook, in the article quoted above, “and of

638 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND TUPIL.

many another country, is a middle link of education
between the best cultured and those who have ele¬
mentary instructions. The masses of our people very
soon will cease to believe in highly intellectual and
thoroughly trained men as leaders, unless there be
high schools to lift pupils from the very bottom of
the social scale, and educate the brightest minds into
contact with the best educated circle. In the name
of political necessity, and of the interests of all classes
of people, I defend the high schools and the normal
schools. I defend that continuity of educational insti¬
tutions which begins by the lowest rounds of the
educational ladder, a round that ought to stand in
the gutter, and lifts the worthy people of whatever
social rank, to the upper round,* on a level as high
as education has reached anywhere on earth.”

In one of his late lectures Mr. Beecher used the
following very earnest language about the impor¬
tance of the teachers work, and the necessity of
thorough qualification on his part. “ I put the
teacher higher than any profession, higher than the
lawyer, higher than the minister, higher than the
statesman. I tell you that the proper society is
the bottom of it, and they that work there are the
ones that work nearest to God. I tell you, first
God, next mother, next teacher, next minister, if
he is worthy of his calling. And you are bound
to give them such dignity that self-respecting men
and women shall be willing to adopt the business
of teaching for life with a certainty, just the same

THE TEACHER’S WORK. 639

certainty, of an adequate support that the other
liberal professions have. As it is, the common school
is perpetually spoiled by raw material. Taking the
country through — large cities are exceptional points —
but taking the country through, nobody teaches
because he means to be a teacher through life. The

m

young man has gone to the academy, and he wants
to go to the seminary or college, and he steps aside
and teaches for a winter with the hope to do some¬
thing else, because that is not going to be his busi¬
ness ; he has gone through college and he wants to
study the liberal professions. He is a little in debt,
and so he thinks he will teach a year in order to
raise funds, and not because he is going to make
teaching a business. And so woman goes into the
common schools not to stay, but because it is a
respectable place for her to wait until she sees what
God is going to send her; when she finds out, she
resigns and opens a school of her own.

“Now, is this system best for your children — to
keep them perpetually in the hands of raw material ?
What if an untaught and rude sailor at the end of
a voyage should say : i I cannot get another berth
for six months, and I think I will practice medicine.’
You wouldn’t put a sick dog in his hands unless it
was for execution. What if a man should say :

‘ I hope for an office, and I will practice law until I
get one.’ He never studied it and isn’t going to
study it, but he is going to practice it. Who would
put a piece of property, or anything he had an

•640 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

interest in — who would place his business, in the
hands of a man that had not studied the law a
good many years and gathered experience and
accumulated wisdom which comes only from study
and experience? You demand these for property,
for the body ; you demand experience in all these

things, but for your children anything, only so that
it is cheap ! ‘If a man will teach for twenty-

five dollars a month and found, he is the man

for us, unless there is a fellow who will teach

for twenty dollars.’ So you foist off upon the
children the poorest, and the meanest, and
the most miserable teachers. But this must be
•changed ; men must cultivate this profession ; a man
must go into it as he does into the ministry, or
into the law, for his life work. Of all parsimony
there is none like that of cheap schools. Endow
the schools liberally, and give them the best teachers
that can be obtained.”

It is quite commonly asserted that the purpose
of the school is to make good citizens. Looked at
in one way, the statement is true ; but it is defective.
This is the principal source of the state’s interest
in education, no doubt, and it is the origin of the

common schools. But to say that the making of

♦

good citizens is the prime object of education is to
make too narrow an assertion ; it does not tell the
tenth part of the truth. What proportion of a man’s
actions, duties, and relations spring out of the imme¬
diate fact of citizenship ? Does any man who is not

THE TEACHER'S WORK.

641

a politician spend five days out of the three hundred
and sixty-five in work which is peculiarly his as a
citizen ? Of course, those who adhere to the above
doctrine give a broader meaning than this to the
expression, and mean by a good citizen, a man who
is honest in his dealings, helpful as a neighbor, and
public-spirited, — in short, a good man. But even this
is not broad enough. Better say that the object of
education, and consequently of schools, is to make
men and women. A man is a far greater thing than
is a citizen. Citizenship is only one of the many
functions of a man.

There is yet another source of reasonable interest
on the part of the state in advanced education.
Government often builds large, expensive court-houses,
state-houses, post-offices, and other public buildings.
They are far finer than the material necessities of
government would justify. Why are they built so ?
For ornament, to display the grandeur and power
of the nation. But do fine buildings form the most
effective ornamentation ? By no means. Man is the
central thing in the universe. Why is it that every
tourist in England wishes to see Westminster Abbey?
Is it because of the architectural magnificence of the
building? Not at all. It is because the spot is
hallowed as the final resting place of many of the
wisest and best Englishmen. There are Chaucer,
Dryden, Milton, Gray, Goldsmith, Addison, Pitt,
Fox, Chatham, and all the long line of rulers. Is
it on account of its great natural beauty that every
41

642 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

visitor at Paris goes first to Pere-la-Chaise ? It is
because there are buried the great of France, —
the philosophers, warriors, historians, statesmen,
poets, and musicians whose names are the glory
of their native land. What is it that lends their
attraction to Waterloo and Gettysburg? Why is it
that Concord, and Weimar, and Stratford-upon-Avon
have so much magnetism to draw the world ?
Faneuil Hall is not the finest building in Boston,
nor is Independence Hall the finest in Philadelphia,
yet they are the most interesting and most visited
places in those cities. Why ? Because there great
deeds have been done, great men have lived, great
history has been made. It is man that gives dignity
to a place or country, — not nature, and not art.
Would it not be well, then, to curtail somewhat, if
necessary, the expenditures upon showy buildings,
and devote the money saved to the making of men
and women who will be a tower of strength and a
crown of glory to the land ?

THE TEACHER AND THE PUBLIC.

A few words now upon the relations of teacher and
public (a subject which does not receive enough atten¬
tion), and we will proceed to our proper theme, the
reciprocal duties of teacher and pupil.

It was mentioned (in page 630), that the teacher
is a professional laborer, and that, therefore, he is
responsible only for results, not for methods. The
teacher, having the advantage of both study and expe-

0

THE TEACHER AND THE PUBLIC. 643,

rience, ought to know, and does know, more about
the proper subjects to be taught and the proper
methods of teaching them than nine hundred and
ninety-nine out of every thousand of his patrons, even
in the most intelligent localities. Hence these subjects
should be left almost entirely to his discretion. Let
him be untrammeled in his work, give him whatever
appliances he needs, and then hold him strictly respon¬
sible for the results.

The teacher has a right to the co-operation of the
public. The child’s mind is easily worked upon,
especially by his parents. If at home he constantly
hears criticisms upon the teacher and the school, he
is put into a state of mind very unfavorable to learning
well what the teacher has to teach. Moreover, it is
quite essential to a successful school that the pupils
should be regular and punctual in their attendance.
This end can be secured by no one else so well as
by the parent, and he should take an active and
constant interest in it. The parent should supply the
child with all necessary books and other equipments,
and should urge and assist him to use them to the
best advantage, and get from them all the good he can.
In these days of large schools, the pupils can expect
but little individual attention from the teacher. This
element must be supplied almost entirely by the
parent.

There is too little permanency about teaching.
Everywhere except in the larger towns there is a
change almost every year. It is necessary that a

644 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

teacher should get acquainted with his pupils and
they with him, before the best results can be
achieved. When a year’s school has been satisfactory,
the teacher should be re-employed if he wishes it,
and he should be informed at the close of the year

whether his services are desired for the next. The

/

common practice of putting off school elections until
a month or so before beginning the next year, is
pernicious. But this duty is not all upon the side
of the public ; it is as necessary that the teacher
should be reasonably prompt in his decision as it is
that the public should be so. If the teacher does
not intend to remain another year, he should make
known the fact soon enough to give time to obtain
another in his place. The idea prevails quite exten¬
sively among teachers that it is right for them to
resign their schools at any time when it may suit
their convenience to do so. This is anything but
honorable ; there is no reason why a teacher should
not be as firmly bound by his promise or contract
as any one else.

A teacher cannot teach successfully unless he
has the necessary appliances, and these should be
furnished. He- should be given a good building,
comfortably warmed, well ventilated, and well cared
for, and there should be a full supply of the things
which are grouped together under the head of
apparatus, — such things as dictionaries, encyclo¬
pedias, maps, and implements for illustration. It
would be well if a few days were given each year

THE TEACHER AND THE PUBLIC. 645

with full pay, to enable the teacher to visit other
schools and observe their methods, and thus
improve his own.

A greater number of teachers should be employed
and the schools made smaller, that each pupil may
receive more individual attention. No two pupils
have minds exactly alike ; each has some talent
peculiar to himself, and he should be allowed to
develop that talent. Esculapius should not be kept
away from his study of bones and muscles in order
that he may make up his grade in arithmetic or
in grammar; Hercules should not be compelled to
mope over poetry and philosophy when he wishes
to roam the fields and strengthen his arm for the
twelve labors; Jason should not be compelled to
split his head over physiology and chemistry when
his natural inclination is to wander along the beach,
read stories of daring adventure upon the ocean,
and dream of the Golden Fleece ; Apollo must not
be forced to spend upon geography and history
the time that belongs to music and poetry. It is
wrong to put all children into • a mold and make
them grow into exactly the same shape. That kind
of treatment is just as barbarous when applied to
their minds, as it would be if applied to their bodies.
But when each teacher has charge of forty or fifty
pupils, how can it well be otherwise? Time being
limited, the course must be arranged for the aver-
age pupil, and the dull one must be hurried, and
the bright one checked, in order to fit that average.

646 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

The jurisdiction of the teacher should be clearly

■x

defined by law. He should not be left in doubt as to
where his authority and responsibility begin and where
they end. Likewise the extent of his authority,
whether, for example, he has the right to punish,
and in what way, should be definitely settled.

Finally, the teacher’s salary should be proportioned
to the importance of his position in the social economy.
The teacher’s work is intellectual work, and he must
have means of cultivating his mind. Healthy instruc¬
tion cannot be drawn from a stagnant mind any more
than healthy water can be drawn from a stagnant pool.
If you would have your children fed upon sound mental
food, you must pay your teacher well enough so
that he may be able to buy books and pictures, to
travel, and to cultivate himself in all ways. Besides,
he ought not to be forced by lack of means to live in
a manner suited only to the poorest of day-laborers.
The mind can scarcely be clear and cheerful when the
body is stretched upon the rack of poverty. And
yet that is precisely the condition of, perhaps, ninety
per cent of the teachers of America. When all these
obligations are fulfilled by the people, then, and not
until then, need they look for and demand the best
results from the public school system.

(Sharacter-Iuilding.

We have seen that the purpose of education is to
make men and women. The great obligation then

CHARACTER-BUILDING.

647

on the teacher’s part is to do this, to give his boys
and girls the maximum of virtue, power, and knowl¬
edge, to lead them as far as possible on the way to
the high goal that has been pointed out, and to give
them strength and light for the remainder of the
journey. He must use the most effective means, as
he with his best intelligence may see it, to make com¬
plete physical, intellectual, and moral men and women
out of the children entrusted to his care. Whatever
qualities he thinks essential to such manhood and
womanhood, these he should honestly, and diligently,
and intelligently strive to form or cultivate in his
pupils. This is his general duty ; all particular duties
are such as work to this end.

Emerson has said that the tiller of the soil should
be not merely a farmer, but a man on a farm ; that
the scholar should be not merely a reader and thinker,
but a man reading and thinking. The idea is a fine
one ; each should strive to be 'a whole man, not a
piece of a man. In like manner we may say that
the teacher should not be a mere schoolmaster, but
a man teaching school. He should be a large-hearted,
big-brained, strong man.

“ Power that comes from knowledge is not to be
despised,” says one eminent writer, “but, after all,
it is the teacher quite as much as the thing taught.
There were one or two men in college when I was
there who will never die out of my memory. I do
not remember a single proposition in Euclid, nor
one single problem in Algebra, nor one single lesson

648 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

in Latin, nor in Greek ; I do not remember the act
of being taught by anybody, though I was taught
some ; but the men that taught me — I remember
them. They were men of quite a wide range. There
was the venerable Dr. Humphrey, an old prophet,
as it were. There was a grandeur in the man’s con¬
science, and in his large sense of manliness. I recol¬
lect him in my life, and think back to him. And
there was Professor Hitchcock, in the chair of natural
sciences. I shall never lose the thought of him. I
ate at his table and saw him daily for a whole year ;
and to see him was to learn the best of lessons. I
learned from him of shells, and bird-tracks, and the
other clues in geology revealed by him ; but he was
the most phenomenal of all things that I learned.
And there was Professor Fiske, pale and slender, our
teacher of Greek — intense, acrid, crystalline. Now
the books I have forgotten, and the lectures I have
forgotten; but the men who gave them — not one of
them, not one of them ! Knowledge is good ; books
can teach that ; but when a man teaches it, he teaches
more than knowledge. He gives himself to you, and
works upon you.”

Of like tenor are Garfield’s saying that a log cabin,
with him sitting as student at one end of a plank
bench, and Mark Hopkins as teacher at the other end,
would be a whole college ; and the oft-quoted remark
of Emerson to his daughter that he did not care so
much what she was studying at school, — that could
be rearranged at almost any time, but he wanted

CHARACTER-BUILDING. 649

to know who was her teacher — wanted to know,
in short, that he was a man , teaching.

The scholar should reach all the way from God
to the ignorant crowd. And this also may apply
to the teacher. On the side of the intellect he should
reach up into the highest regions of thought and
knowledge ; on the side of the sympathies he should
reach down and stand on a level with his pupils. The
teacher whose sympathies are not so broad as they
ought to be has forgotten how he felt and thought
when a child, and he cannot replace in his mind
those ways of thought and feeling. He cannot under¬
stand his pupils, and they cannot understand him.

They are in the condition of an Englishman and
%

a German, each ignorant of the others language,
yet trying to carry on a profitable conversation. This
is the perfect teacher, who reaches from God to the
little child, but this teacher scarcely exists. The
good teacher is he who stands in the middle and
reaches far out in both directions.

The teacher should be a scholar. He must have
something to teach. That he should be able to
obtain a license is by no means enough. I should
scarcely think it worth while to send my child to a
man or woman who knew nothing beyond the so-
called “common-branches,” and who even there per-
haps felt the ground to quake beneath his feet, who
had not a thought of his own and no power to com¬
prehend the thoughts of others, whose highest idea
of scholarship was the accummulation of insignificant

650 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

facts. What nourishing mental food for a child it
must be to discuss and memorize the wondrous and
world-important fact that the city of Verkhoiansk is
on the river Tana, in Siberia, latitude 66 north, longi¬
tude 13 1 east; that the Ogawai river in Africa, empties
a little north of Cape Lopez, latitude 1 south, longi¬
tude 9 east ; that Massachusetts is not a state, because
her official designation is as a “ commonwealth ” ; that
General O’Hara, acting for General Cornwallis, sur¬
rendered with eight thousand and eighty-seven men,
at Yorktown, at four o’clock in the afternoon of Friday,
on the nineteenth of October, seventeen hundred and
eighty-one. No, the teacher’s mind and knowledge
must be broad enough to enable him to distinguish
between vital matters and those of no consequence,
to deal more with principles than with facts, and to
make his teaching pleasant enough for the child to
see some of the delights of study, and wish to enjoy
them himself.

Just now the great hobby among teachers seems
to be “ methods,” and every school-keeper is looking
to pedagogics and applied psychology as the Jeru¬
salem where he can find salvation, as the holy bones
whose touch will transport him at once into professor-
dom. Methods are well enough in their place, but I
should rather advise the young teacher to go ahead
and get something to teach ; the methods will take
care of themselves if he has any talent for teaching.
The what is more necessary than the how ; and the
teacher should not stop when he has got what might

1

CHARACTER-BUILDING. 65 1

be considered a fair education. If he does, and thus
allows his mind to stand still, he will soon find that
he is getting weak and rusty, and that his pupils
are losing their interest, and that he is falling back
in his profession. To keep his mind bright and
vigorous, he must labor continually even to old age,
making new excursions into the fields of literature,
science, history, or whatever his special study may be.

It was observed that the teacher’s obligation does
not stop at intellectual training ; it includes moral
training as well. Moral education may be imparted in
two ways, by precept and by example. Undoubtedly
instruction upon topics relating to morals should be
given occasionally, when opportunity offers. This
instruction need not be religious in its character, and
should not be sectarian. But this is not the most
useful way of cultivating a good moral sentiment in
the young people. A deed is always stronger than
a word. You may talk morality two hours a day,
and if your life is bad, your teaching will not only
be fruitless, but it will be positively hurtful, because
your hypocrisy will disgust and repel your hearers.
The most influential preachers of morality are those
whose talents are such as to secure them the respect
and admiration of the young, and whose lives are
pure and lovely. Such are sure to become models
for some, at least, of their flock. Be honest, be
sympathetic, be independent, be courageous, be dili¬
gent, and you will not fail to see some diligent,
courageous, sympathetic, honest, and independent boys

652 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

and girls growing up about you. Make your own
life at least as good as your teachings, if you would
do your whole duty to your school.

Probably there is no other point in the relations
of teacher and pupil which is so warmly contested as
the question of punishment — whether it is expedient,
and whether it is right. In ancient Rome we know
that flogging was the order of the day in the schools.
It continued to be so from that time until a few
years ago, when it began to be thought cruel to
whip children. Public sentiment at the present time
seems to be very strongly against punishment. Cer¬
tainly no one favors the old custom of constant beat¬
ing, when the teachers scepter was a ferrule in his
hand, and the badges of his authority were tough
birch rods hanging upon the wall. But are we not
swinging too far in the other direction ? A great
many wise and good men believe that there is too
much laxity in both home and school, and that it
cannot result in any good to the children. The
whole matter falls back upon the simple question of
who has the right to govern, whose will is to be
supreme in case of conflict, — the teacher’s will, of
course ; nobody disputes that. But most children
are like grown people, in that they want the free
exercise of their own desires, and will not yield
unless compelled by some higher power to do so.

DISCIPLINE.

653

Some children have their moral natures so well
developed that they can be led to see what is right,
and then to do it because it is right. But there are
few teachers of much experience who have not had
in their charge pupils whose sense of right and
wrong seemed to be located almost entirely in the
shoulders and limbs. With such children the proverb

w

holds good — to spare the rod is to spoil the child.

Rosencranz has this to say of corporal punishment,
and it seems that he takes the most sensible view
of the subject : “ Corporal punishment implies physi¬

cal pain. Generally it consists of whipping, and this
is perfectly justifiable in case of persistent defiance
of authority, of obstinate carelessness, or of malicious
evil-doing, so long or so often as the higher perceptions
of the offender are closed against appeal. But it must
not be administered too often, or with undue severity.
To resort to deprivation of food is cruel. But, while
we condemn the false view of seeing in the rod the
only panacea for all embarrassing questions of dis¬
cipline on the teacher’s part, we can have no sympathy
for the sentimentality which assumes that the dignity
of humanity is affected by a blow given to a child.
It is wrong thus to confound self-conscious humanity
with child humanity, for to the average child himself
a blow is the most natural form of retribution, and that
in which all other efforts at influence end at last. The
fully grown man ought, certainly, not to be flogged,
for this kind of punishment places him on a level
with the child ; or, where it is barbarously inflicted,

654

DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

reduces him to the level of the brute, and thus abso-

%

lutely does degrade him. • But with the child this
is not necessarily true.”

The privilege of expulsion ought alsc to be granted
to the teacher. His duties are to the whole school,
and not to any individual, and if a pupil persists in
annoying and disturbing the school, is it not clear
that right and justice demand his removal ? It is

a serious thing to expel a boy from school ; it not

*

infrequently results in great evil to him, for it gen¬
erally subjects him to evil influences. He will be
likely to find his boon companions among the lower
classes who lounge in the streets, or spend their time
in idleness and vice. Expulsion then, ought to be
used only as a last resort. But one pupil cannot
in justice be allowed to disturb and contaminate a
school of forty or fifty, and if he falls after continued
trials of gentler means to reform him, his fault must
be upon his own head

The teacher and the pupils have in kindness a
mutual duty for the performance of which they have
daily opportunities. There are very many things
which the pupils would be glad to know about and
concerning which the teacher can give information.
He should be kind enough to do so, even at the cost
of considerable trouble to himself. He will find that
the time has been profitably expended. Any exhibi-

MUTUAL KINDNESS AND RESPECT. 655

tion of kindness, generosity, and gentleness, by the
teacher is sure to bring its legitimate reward in an
increased affection on the part of the scholars. Often
a little kind treatment will conquer a child’s evil
tendencies and reclaim him for the good, when pun¬
ishment might perhaps drive him still farther from
the path of virtue. The pupils may show their kindly
feelings for the teacher by abstaining from practices
which annoy and disturb him in his work.

Both teacher and taught should have and show
a thorough respect for each other. It is very far
from being conducive to the purpose of the school
for the teacher to be continually scolding and fret¬
ting at his pupils, calling them fools, blockheads, or
numbskulls, or for the pupils to speak of the teacher
as “old Jones,” “cross old Huff,” etc. Each should
speak to and of the other with entire respect and
good will.

The pupil owes to the teacher obedience in all
proper matters connected with school work. The
teacher knows better than he the importance of his
work and the best means of accomplishing it, and
prompt and cheerful obedience should be rendered,
even if he does not perceive the utility of the com¬
mand. The pupil also owes it to the teacher, to his
parents, and to himself, to be diligent and faithful,
to perform fully all tasks imposed upon him, and
in every way to co-operate with the teacher for the
crood of the school. Let him rest assured that if
he neglects his work now, the day will come when

656 DUTIES OF TEACHER AND PUPIL.

he will repent his foolish idleness, and wish that
he had heeded the exhortations of his elders to use
well his time while it was his. Then, young reader,
“ use your youthful days, learn betimes to be wiser :
in the great scale of fortune the arm seldom stands
still ; you must climb or sink, suffer or triumph,
be anvil or hammer ; you must rule and win, or
serve and lose.”

Duties to ©overnmeut.

LL beings have their laws ; the
Deity has His laws, the material
world has its laws, superior intel¬
ligences have their laws, the beasts
have their laws, and man has his
laws. “ Of law there can be no
less acknowledged than that her seat is the
bosom of God, her voice the harmony of
the world ; all things do her homage, the
very least as feeling her care, and the
greatest as not exempted from her power ;
both angels and men, and creatures of
what condition soever, though each in a different
sort and manner, yet all with uniform consent
admiring her as the mother of their peace and joy.”

In a strictly natural state of affairs, there would
probably be no such thing as government ; or if
any did exist, it would be of the crudest form.
Government, as we know it, is an artificial thing,
a thing born of artificial necessities, and seemingly it

42

657

658 DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

increases in complexity as the world advances in
civilization.

Among animals we find some very rude begin¬
nings toward settled social order, but nothing in any
way elaborate. In a herd of wild horses, there is

always one older, stronger, or fleeter than the others,
who acts as their leader. At the approach of danger,
he begins the flight, and the rest follow him as

obediently as an army follows its commander. When
a flock of cranes alight to feed, sentinels are posted
who stand with their long necks stretched up into

the air, alert to perceive any danger that may be

near. If any occasion arises, the sentinels give the
alarm, and the whole flock flies away. Certain kinds
of birds, as ducks and geese, fly in regular order,
marshaled by their leaders. Others, as swallows,
congregate in vast flocks just before their annual
migration.

Among uncivilized races there is government, but
it is of a very primitive sort. With them the only
title to authority is superior personal ability of some
kind, whether mental, or physical, or moral. Accord¬
ing to Carlyle, the word king is derived from “ kon -
ning, which means canning, an able-man.” Conven¬
tional authority, unsupported by strong individual
claims, is something which could not stand for a
moment among the Indians of our western plains.
A feeble-minded king could have no place in their
body politic. But in the settled and well-ordered
countries of Europe, place is reverenced, regardless

DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

659

of its occupant. Government with them has grown
into a vast institution, independent of individual men.
Evidently then, political government is artificial in its
nature, a thing designed by man for his convenience.

Its origin is wrapped in impenetrable obscurity.
Those who are fond of theorizing about legal and
political institutions have had several different ways
of accounting for the how of the formation of govern¬
ment. It may be that it originated merely in a pro¬
cess of usurpation ; the strong man overpowering his
weaker neighbor and robbing him of some portion of
his goods, he in turn being robbed by a still stronger,
and so on, until finally one became king and had all
the others for subjects. Or it may have grown out
of the family relation, — the father ruling his house¬
hold and extending the range of his authority as the
family grew greater. Or, perhaps, men living in a
state of nature had arrived at a point where the
strength of each individual was insufficient for his pro¬
tection, and where union of forces thus became neces¬
sary. And still again, many think that government
is a divine institution, created directly by God, and
a part of the original plan of creation. But whether
it had its origin in the divine right of the strongest,
or whether men voluntarily and of one accord
gathered themselves into a society for mutual pro¬
tection and advancement, and selected the manner
of rule they wished, or in whatever way the first
tottering steps toward the complex modern political
machine were taken, the why of its beginning as

66o

DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

well as the reason for its vigilant continuance is
quite easily explained.

The primary purpose of all government, whether
simple or complex, is mutual protection against the
aggressions of outside enemies. It is for this that
the wild horses have their leaders, the cranes their
sentinels, and the Indian tribes their chieftains ;
and it is mostly for this purpose that the kingdoms
and republics of the present were organized with
their standing armies, thousands of civil officers,
and other apparatus. But for this, it may be that
no such thing as government would exist. All other
things are incidental or secondary to it.

But governments, having once been organized to
this end, have found it necessary in course of time,
as their respective peoples have emerged from the
state of savagery, to take cognizance of other matters.
The principal duties of a civilized government, in
addition to the one already pointed out, are : to
protect its citizens from the encroachments of one
another, encouraging the virtuous in their virtue,
and restraining the vicious from their vice ; to pro¬
vide means for the proper training and education
of the young ; to promote by /all means in its power
the material property of its subjects ; and to regu¬
late all matters which must be settled by regularly
adopted rules, — such things as weights, measures,
coinage of money, the disposition of the estates of
persons dying intestate, etc. It may be remarked
in passing that the least amount of active govern-

OBEDIENCE.

66 1

ment which will answer the purposes, is the best.
Government should interfere with the life and affairs
of its citizens at the smallest possible number of
points. It is well to scan closely every proposition
to increase the scope of the laws, and reject it ' if it
is not clearly essential to the well-being of the state
and the people.

The fact that duties are reciprocal has already been
noted in these pages. If, I owe you a duty, you
owe me one in return. Since government owes us
the duties of protection and the promotion of our
well-being in all possible ways, we must, in accordance
with this principle, owe it certain corresponding duties,
and it is necessary that we should clearly understand
what they are.

The following analysis of our duty to the govern¬
ment under which we choose to live, makes but four
divisions of that duty; simple, yet covering the entire
ground :

r Obedience.

Duties to Government.

Financial Support.
Support in War.

Moral Support.

The first of them, the one which comprehends
nearly all the others, is that of the general subjection
of our wills to its will. Government has no means of
protecting us except through ourselves, and it is theie-

662

DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

fore necessary that in all matters essential to the per¬
formance of its duties, it should have full control over
us. Thus, it acquires a right to command our
fortunes our efforts, and our lives ; to restrain our
liberty, and to overrule our wishes. Very many things
which are in themselves right, become, when forbidden
by government, wrong, and it is our place to avoid
them. Thus, for example, we have a natural right
to go where we please and take with us anything
that is our own, without restraint. But when govern¬
ment fixes taxes on imported goods as one of its
sources of revenue, it is not only legally wrong, but
morally wrong, to avoid the payment of those taxes,
even though it be in the assertion of a right that
naturally belongs to ,us. Or, when government, in
time of war, and as a means of securing its own safety,
forbids all persons to go outside of the country, or
to hold communication with persons living in other
lands, it becomes a violation of duty on our part to
disobey these commands, even if our purposes are
entirely innocent in themselves. Government may go
yet farther than that, and rightfully command us to
do things which are in themselves wrong. Thus, it
may demand of us that we shall kill its enemies, an
act, which, under ordinary circumstances, would be
murder, and the blackest of crimes, but which, when
commanded by government in due form and for proper
cause, is transformed into a sacred duty.

It is impossible that all the regulations of the wisest
government should equally benefit every individual ;

OBEDIENCE.

66 3

and sometimes the general good will demand arrange¬
ments which will interfere with the interests of par¬
ticular members or classes of the nation. In such
circumstances, the individual is bound to regard the
inconveniences under which he suffers as inseparable
from a social, connected state, as the result of the
condition which God has appointed, and not as the
fault of his rulers ; and he should cheerfully submit,
recollecting how much more he receives from the
community than he is called to resign to it. Dis¬
affection toward a government which is administered
with a view to the general welfare, is a great crime ;
and such opposition, even to a bad government, as
springs from and spreads a restless temper, and an
unwillingness to yield to wholesome and necessary
restraint, is a crime just as great. In proportion
as a people lack a conscientious regard to the laws,
and are prepared to evade them by fraud, or to arrest
their operation by violence, — in that proportion they
need and deserve an arbitrary government, strong
enough to crush at a single blow every symptom of
opposition.

But there are limits which the government may
not pass except for the most substantial reasons ; it
has no right to confine our liberties in any way that
is not absolutely necessary. Only in a cause vital
to its safety may it bid us do a thing morally wrong.
It has no right to restrain in any way the freedom
of thought. Under ordinary circumstances it cannot
properly place any barriers to the freedom of speech,

664

DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

or limit us in any of those things which have in them¬
selves no moral quality. The general maxim should
not be lost sight of that the least possible degree
of constraint consistent with the proper performance
of its duties should be imposed upon us by govern¬
ment. But within these limits our obedience should
be absolute and unhesitating.

Financial Support.

Government, of course, incurs large expenses in
the performance of its duties, and there is only one
way in which it can obtain funds to liquidate these
expenses, namely, by contributions from its citizens.
The experiment of government engaging in mercan¬
tile business was once tried in France, and upon a
colossal scale. The crash that followed was enor¬
mous. It is the citizen’s duty to give cheerfully and
honestly his proportionate share toward meeting the
necessary expenses of government. It is fraud, and
fraud of just as black a dye as any other kind of
fraud, for him to make dishonest returns of the
property he owns, or in any other way to attempt
to defeat the demands of the national authorities. In
some way it has become a widely prevalent feeling
that it is not wrong to cheat the government ; that
whatever one can unfairly get out of it is so much
pure gain, and is not a matter to be accounted for
before the bar of conscience. Men who would scorn
to cheat a private citizen in the slightest degree,

FINANCIAL SUPPORT.

665

have no compunctions whatever about cheating- their
government, and even about stealing from it directly.
There is certainly no foundation in fact or principle
for this sentiment. Government performs for us a
great many very important functions which could
not be performed by any less powerful body. And
even if other corporate bodies could do the work,
they would not (and, but for the dishonesty and
incompetency of officers, could not) do it so cheaply;
for, unlike other corporations and individuals, it asks
no profit, but gives us cost price on everything.
Surely it is entitled to have the little that it asks
paid promptly, honestly, and without grumbling, and
to have men act with as much integrity toward it as
toward men and other corporate bodies.

«

Support in War.

it occasionally happens that a nation is obliged
to use sterner weapons than diplomats and envoys.
They are like individuals in that they do not always
treat one another with fairness. Their promises are
sometimes broken ; they sometimes use underhanded
means to gain an advantage over their rivals. They
are unable to resist the temptation of getting fair
-territories and rich revenues which do not belong to
them. In such cases, war becomes a much to be
regretted necessity, as the only possible means of
defending our national rights. Probably the time may
come when nations will settle their conflicting claims

666

DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

by the bloodless method of arbitration more than
they do now. The International Congress, to which
each nation shall send representatives, as each state
sends representatives to our National Congress, and
which shall decide matters of dispute between various
countries according to their merits, may some day
be an accomplished fact. If these things shall be so,
the occasions for war will greatly decrease in number.
But at present the securest peace is the one which
has been conquered, and which can be maintained
by force of arms ; and so long as human nature
remains what it is, the necessity for fighting, or at least
for the ability to fight whenever circumstances may
seem to require it, will not soon entirely disappear.
Hence, it is necessary that government should have
the authority to command our services in the field
whenever it thinks proper ; and it is our duty to obey
that call as promptly as any other. It is rightly
considered a noble deed, one worthy of all honor, for
a man to give his life for his native land. Will not
gallant young Captain Hale’s name be remembered
as long as the story of American freedom is told ?
Was not Arnold Winkleried’s death worth more to
the world and to himself than a hundred lives could
have been? Does not the rugged mountain pass
receive a new beauty from his deed ? One of the
noteworthy incidents of the war between the states,
was the enlistment of Elias Howe, the inventor of
the sewing machine, as a private in the Union army.
He was feeble and was past the most active days of

SUPPORT IN WAR.

667

his life, and, moreover, he was a millionaire, but he
wished to serve his country ; and as, knowing nothing
of military affairs, he was incapable of filling an official
position, he offered himself as a private soldier, and
joined the army in that capacity. It is doubly
degrading to attempt to evade this call of duty, for
it is not only defrauding the nation of something
which is due to it, but it is allowing fear, or other
selfish considerations, to rule us in opposition to the
higher voice of right.

There are those whose *'eligious beliefs are such
that it would be wrong for them to fight, even if
commanded to do so by government. Such persons
are generally excused from war service ; but if not,
they would have their remedy in expatriation. A
citizen may rightly leave his native country and
renounce his allegiance to it at any time, except
when government has forbidden it temporarily upon
the ground of public safety. This is the proper
remedy against all actions of government which con¬
flict with our ideas of right, that is, it is the ulti¬
mate remedy ; the first resort is, of course, to use
our power as citizens to change the government’s
course of action.

But so long as we remain in a country, that long
are we subject to it, and that long ought we to
yield implicit obedience to its commands ; that long
ought we to give of our substance for its support ;
that long ought we to stand ready to sacrifice our
lives for its safety ; and that long ought we, hf

668

DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

precept and by example, to nourish and sustain a
sentiment of patriotism among our fellow-citizens, and
among those who will be citizens in future years.

The final duty we owe to government is that of
moral support, and this is especially important in
such a country as ours, where the people are the
court of supreme authority. We should defend it
against those who wrongfully assail it with words.
Malicious attacks are constantly being made upon all
governments by parties who have been disappointed
and angered at their failure to secure some personal
end,, and by those who “have an a,xe to grind.”
These attacks of course have a tendency to destroy
the confidence of people in the ability and integrity
of government, and thus to weaken it and make it
powerless to perform its various functions. We
should ourselves entertain a sentiment of patriotism,
and we should cultivate that sentiment in The minds
of the young.

Breathes there a man, with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land ?

Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,

From wandering on a foreign strand?

If such there be, go, mark him well ;
t For him no minstrel raptures swell ;

MORAL SUPPORT.

669

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch, concentered all in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.

These fine lines of Scott’s are not too strong.
There are few things which add more dignity to
the character of a man than love of country. All
great nations have been rich in patriotic citizens.
In those nations whose power has waned, and which
have sunk from commanding influence into insignifi¬
cance, decaying patriotism has been the sure sign
preceding their fall. Whenever the citizens of a
country become/ so absorbed in their private affairs
that they can give no attention to the needs of their
government ; when the protection of the whole country
becomes the business of a class of politicians, and
is entrusted entirely to that class — then is the deluge
very near. Rousseau, in his “ Considerations upon
the Government of Poland,” speaks thus concerning
the education of the young in patriotism : “ National
education belongs only to free men ; they alone have
a common existence and are truly united by law. A
Frenchman, an Englishman, a Spaniard, an Italian, a
Russian, are all pretty much the same man ; they
leave college already completely fashioned for license,
that is to say, for servitude. At twenty years a Pole

6jO DUTIES TO GOVERNMENT.

ought not to be any other man ; he ought to be a

Pole. It would be my wish that in learning to read

he should read the things of his country; that at

ten years he should be acquainted with all its pro-

«

ductions, at twelve with all its provinces, all its.
roads, all its towns ; that at fifteen he should know
all its history, at sixteen all its laws ; that there
should not have been in all Poland a beautiful action
or an illustrious man of whom his memory and his
heart were not full, and of whom he could not
furnish a complete account upon the instant.” Per¬
haps the somewhat visionary Jean Jacques may have
exaggerated the importance of a strictly national
education ; perhaps such an extreme course as he
suggests might breed a race of narrow-minded men ;
but at any rate the idea is worth thinking about.
Well pondered, it may become the source of much
good.

/

We should take part in the cares and responsi¬
bilities devolving upon the citizens of a country whose
people are sovereign. The corruption of politics has
grown so great that a decent man dislikes to have
anything to do with it unnecessarily. Many of the
best and wisest citizens decline to participate in it,
even to the small extent of voting. It is true that?
politics is a foul mess which a man with clean hands
and a healthy nose hates to approach, but is it to
be made cleaner by all the good men deserting it
and leaving it entirely to the ward politicians and
their friends, to the inmates of rum-houses, to the

MORAL SUPPORT.

671

bribers and bribe-takers? If you would have political
affairs pure and respectable, you must not shun them,
but must bear your part, and impart to them somewhat
of your purity and respectability. You should keep
yourself informed of the progress of national affairs,
and should act intelligently and unselfishly for the
best interests of your country. When the time comes
for the casting of ballots, however displeased you may
be with the course of events, or however much your
personal interest may have been thwarted, you should
go to the polls and vote honestly and fearlessly for
the men and the principles that you think ought to
rule. When all the good and the wise do this, and
cast their influences into the scale on the side of
purity, there will be less fraud and bare-faced rascality
in politics than we now have to lament.

Duties to the Creator,

T is not our intention in this
chapter to enter upon any dis¬
cussion of religious views. There
is ground beyond all sectarianism
which is ample for us to stand
upon. Schiller somewhere says
that underneath the crust of all religions
lies religion itself, the idea of the divine.
And it is this “ religion itself,” that we
wish to discuss, — the humble recognition*
of the divine that dwells in us and around
us. Whether a man be Christian, or Jew,
or Mohammedan, or Bhuddist, or Infidel
or whatever he may be, he can not avoid the feel¬
ing, even if he would, that he is subject to powers
higher and mightier than himself. He may embody
all these powers in the person of one mighty and
terrible God ; or he may, like the Greeks, fill the
earth, and the air, and the sea with malign or benef¬
icent beings who work to hinder or to promote his

prosperity. But whether he calls it God, or Jehovah,

672

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

673

or Allah, or Jove, or The Great Spirit, or whether
he calls it by no name at all, the feeling that
something is above him, nevertheless, exists within
his breast. Leaving out of consideration all direct
revelations given by God to his inspired writers, who
can avoid reverencing the power that lies behind the
sunshine which warms the earth and quickens the
germ hiding in its bosom ; and the storm that
sweeps across the country, dealing out death and
destruction on every hand ; and the ocean that in
peace bears upon its shoulders the myriad fleets of
commerce, or in anger hurls them furiously against
the jagged rocks ; and the mountains that rear their
hoary heads above the clouds ; and the valleys that
lie between them, smiling with their many-hued
growth. He must be in spiritual poverty, whose
soul is so narrow as not to perceive and venerate
the greatness that surrounds him, and more yet
the greatness that is in him. Veneration does not
include the feeling we commonly mean by the word
fear; it ofoes hand in hand with love. It is then
no craven spirit which worships, but a spirit manly
enough and great enough to recognize the superiority
of that which is greater than it, without any feeling
of selfish jealousy. It is a true saying that only the
good can appreciate the good. Ruskin somewhere
says that it is a matter of the simplest demonstra¬
tion that no man is ever truly appreciated except by
another who is his equal or superior. The nearer
one comes to equality, the nearer he approaches to
43

*

674

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

the ability of true appreciation. The more venera¬
tion one has for all things that are divine, on this
side of superstition, the greater and nobler man he is.

It has been said that all the duties given as due
to ourselves and to others, are due also to the Creator;
because they are essential to our perfection, and
perfection must have been the end for which we were
created. If we are dishonest, lazy, rude, cruel, unchar¬
itable, or unsympathetic ; if we allow ourselves to
remain unnecessarily ignorant, or if we neglect to
educate any of the gentler parts of our nature, we
are doing a wrong to him who made us with such
wonderful capabilities.

But these are not all that we owe to the Creator
and Sovereign of the universe. Other duties, and still
more essential to right relations with the Deity, are
ours. Foremost of these is reverence — reverence in
the broadest and fullest sense of the term. The
importance of this sentiment of reverence for what
is higher, this worship, this religiousness, can hardly
be conceived. It is the prime fact of the universe;
in every man’s character it is the one thing. The
presence or the absence of this feeling marks his
reliability or his untrustworthiness, the nobility or the
degradation of his spirit. Listen to what some of
the wise men of the world have had to say upon
this and kindred topics :

“True is it that, in these days, man can do almost
all things, except to not obey. True, likewise, that
whoso cannot obey cannot be free, still less bear rule ;

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

675

lie that is the inferior of nothing, can be the superior
of nothing, the equal of nothing. Nevertheless,
believe not that man has lost his faculty of reverence ;
that if it slumber in him it is gone dead. Painful
for man is that same rebellious independence, when
it has become inevitable ; only in loving companionship
with his fellows does he feel safe ; only in reverently
bowing down before the higher does he feel himself
exalted. — Carlyle.

“ Religion, the final center of repose ; the goal
to which all things tend, which gives to time all its
importance, to eternity all its glory ; apart from which
man is a shadow, his very existence a riddle, and the
stupendous scenes which surround him as incoherent
and unmeaning as the leaves which the sibyl scattered
in the wind.” — Robert Hall.

“ Religion is the mortar that binds society together ;
the granite pedestal of liberty ; the strong backbone
of the social system.” — Guthrie.

“ Religion tends to the ease and pleasure, the peace
and tranquility of our minds ; which all the wisdom
of the ancients did always aim at as the utmost felicity
of this life.” — Tillotson.

“ I have lived long enough to know what I did
not at one time believe — that no society can be
upheld in happiness and honor without the sentiment
of religion. ” — La . Place.

“ True religion is the foundation of society. When
that is once shaken by contempt, the whole fabric
cannot be stable nor lasting.” — Burke.

6/6

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

“ The pleasure of the religious man is an easy
and portable pleasure, such an one as he carries about
in his bosom, without alarming either the eye or the
envy of the world. A man putting all his pleasures
into this one is like a traveler’s putting all his wealth
into one jewel ; the value is the same, and the con¬
venience greater.” — South .

“There are no principles but those of religion to
be depended on in cases of real distress ; and these are
able to encounter the worst emergencies, and to bear
us up under all the changes and chances to which
our life is subject.” — Sterne.

“Few men suspect, perhaps no man comprehends,
the extent of the support given by religion to the
virtues of ordinary life. No man, perhaps, is aware
how much our moral and social sentiments are fed
from this fountain ; how powerless conscience would
become without the belief in a God ; how palsied
would be human benevolence, were there not the
sense of a higher benevolence to quicken and sustain
it ; how suddenly the whole social fabric would quake,
and with what a fearful crash it would sink into
hopeless ruins, were the ideas of a Supreme Being,
of accountableness, and of a future life, to be utterly
erased from every mind. Once let men thoroughly
believe that they are the work and sport of chance —
that no superior intelligence concerns itself with
human affairs ; that all their improvements perish
forever at death; that the weak have no guardian
and the injured no avenger ; that there is no recom-

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR. 677

pense for sacrifice to uprightness and the public good ;
that an oath is unheard in heaven ; that secret crimes
have no witness but the perpetrator ; that human
existence has no purpose and human virtue no unfail¬
ing friend ; that this brief life is everything to us,
and death is total, everlasting extinction — once let
men thoroughly believe these things, and who , can
conceive or describe the extent of the desolation
which would follow? We hope, perhaps, that human
laws and our natural sympathy would hold society
together. As reasonably might we believe that, were
the sun quenched in the heavens, our torches could
illuminate and our fires quicken and fertilize the earth.
What is there in human nature to awaken respect
and tenderness, if man is the unprotected insect of
a day ? and what is he more if atheism be true ?
Erase all thought and fear of God from a community,
and selfishness and sensuality would absorb the whole
man. Appetite knowing no restraint, poverty and
suffering having no solace or hope, would trample
in scorn on the restraints of human laws. Virtue,
duty, principle, would be mocked and spurned as
unmeaning sounds. A sordid self-interest would sup¬
plant every other feeling, and man would become in
fact, what the theory of atheism declares him to be,
a companion for brutes. Religion befriends liberty.
It diminishes the necessity of public restraints, and
supersedes in a great degree the use of force in
administering the laws ; and this it does by making
men a law to themselves, and by repressing the dis-

678 DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

position to disturb and injure society. Take away
the purifying and restraining influence of religion,
and selfishness, rapacity, and injustice will break out
in new excesses ; and amidst the increasing perils of
society, government must be strengthened to defend
it, must accumulate means of repressing disorder and
crime ; and this strength and these means may be,
and often have been, turned against the freedom of
the state which they were meant to secure. Diminish
principle, and you increase the need of force in a
community. In this country government needs not
the array of power which you meet in other nations ;
no guards of soldiers, no hosts of spies, no vexa¬
tious regulations of police ; but accomplishes its benef¬
icent purposes by a few unarmed judges and civil
officers, and operates so silently around us, and comes
so seldom in contact with us, that many of us enjoy
its blessings with hardly a thought of its existence.
This is the perfection of freedom ; and to what do
we owe this condition ? I answer, to the power of
those laws which religion writes on our hearts, which
unite and concentrate public opinion against injustice
and oppression, which spread a spirit of equity and
good-will through the community. Thus religion is
the soul of freedom, and no nation under heaven
has such an interest in it as ourselves.” — C banning, .

“It is well said, in every sense, that a man’s religion
is the chief fact with regard to him. A man’s, or a
nation of men’s. By religion I do not mean here
the church creed which he professes, the articles of

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR. 679

faith which he will sign, and, in words or otherwise,
assert ; not this wholly, in many cases not this at all.
We see men of all kinds of professed creeds attain to
almost all degrees of worth or worthlessness under
each or any of them. This is not what I call religion,
this profession and assertion ; which is often only a
profession and assertion from the outworks of the
man, from the mere argumentative region of him, if
even so deep as that. But the thing a man does
practically believe (and this is often enough without
asserting it even to himself, much less to others) ;
the thing a man does practically lay to heart, and
know for certain, concerning his vital relations to
this mysterious universe, and his duty and destiny
there — that is in all cases the primary thing for him,
and creatively determines all the rest. That is his
religion; or, it may be, his mere skepticism and no
religion; it is the manner in which he feels himself
to be spiritually related to the unseen world, or no
world ; and I say, if you tell me what that is, you tell
me to a very great extent what the man is, and
what the kind of things he will do. Of a man or
of a nation we inquire, therefore, first of all, what
religion they had? Was it heathenism, — plurality of
gods,' mere sensuous representation of this mystery
of life, and for chief recognized element therein,
physical force? Was it Christianism ; faith in an
invisible, not as real only, but as the only reality ; time,
through every meanest moment of it, resting on
eternity; pagan empire of force displaced by a nobler

68o

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

supremacy, that of holiness? Was it skepticism,
uncertainty and inquiry whether there was an unseen
world, any mystery of life except a mad one — doubt
as to all this ; or, perhaps, unbelief and flat denial ?
Answering of this question is giving us the secret of
the history of the man or nation. The thoughts
they had were the parents of the actions they did ;
their feelings were parents of their thoughts : it was
the unseen and spiritual in them that determined the
outward and the actual ; their religion, as I say, was
the one great fact about them.” — Carlyle.

In one of the best passages of “Wilhelm Meister’s
Wauderjahre” (a passage which Carlyle says he would
rather have written, or been able to write, than all else
which had appeared in the world since his birth),
Goethe says that there is one element in human nature
which must always be fully developed in order that
. man may be man, complete on every side. And that
element/ is reverence, reverence l Reverence for that
which is above us, reverence for that which is about
us, reverence for that which is beneath us. Nature
readily conforms itself to fear, but not to reverence.
One fears a known o'r unknown mighty being. The
strong seeks to conquer it, the weak man to avoid
it ; both wish to get rid of it, and feel themselves
happy when they have thrust it aside for a time, when
their nature has to some extent regained its freedom
and independence. The natural man repeats this
operation millions of times in the course of his life ;
from fear he struggles to freedom, from freedom he

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR. 68 1

is driven back to fear, and so gets no further. To
fear is easy, but burdensome ; to revere is difficult,
but pleasant. Unwillingly do men resolve upon
reverence, or, rather, they never resolve upon it. It
is a higher sense which must be imparted to their
nature, and which unfolds itself spontaneously only
in those specially favored, who, on this account, have
always been looked upon as saints, as gods. Here
lies the dignity, here the work of all true religions.
No religion which is grounded upon fear is regarded
among us. With reverence, which a man lets rule
in himself, he can give honor, and yet keep his own
honor. The religion which rests upon reverence of
that which is above, is ethnic ; it is the religion of
the peoples, and the first happy absolution from vulgar
fear ; all so-called heathen religions are of this sort.

The second religion, based upon that reverence
which we have for what is equal to us, is the philo¬
sophic : for the philosopher, who takes his stand in
the middle, must pull whatever is higher than he
down to himself, and raise whatever is lower up to
himself, and only in this middle point does he deserve
to be called wise.

The third religion, founded on reverence of that
which is beneath us, we call the Christian, because
in it this way of thought most discloses itself ; it
is a finality which humanity could and must reach.
But^ what a work was there, not only to let the
earth lie under us and refer ourselves to a higher
birthplace, but also to recognize lowliness and pov-

682

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

erty, scorn and contempt, shame and misery, suffer¬
ing and death, as divine ; yea, not to look upon
sin and transgression even as hindrances, but to
honor and cherish them as motives to holiness.
There are traces of this through all ages ; but
traces are not the goal, and now that this is once
attained, humanity cannot fall back again.

“‘And to which of the three religions do you
adhere?’ asks wondering Wilhelm. ‘To all three,’
the wise men reply ; for together they bring forth
the true religion. Out of these three reverences
springs the highest reverence, reverence of one’s
self, and these unfold themselves again out of it,
so that man attains the highest point which he is
capable of reaching, that he hold himself to be the
best which God and nature have produced, and
remain upon this eminence, without being dragged
down again to the vulgar planes by stupidity and
self-conceit.” — Goethe.

“ It is an heroic obedience, to observe the decrees
of God, merely because they are the decrees of God,
and not because He has promised to reward the
observer of them here and hereafter ; to observe
them, although we may quite despair of the future
reward and may not be so entirely certain of the
temporal. ” — Lessing.

“ One adequate support
For the calamities of mortal life
Exists, one only; — an assured belief
That the procession of our fate, howe’er

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR. 683

Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being
Of infinite benevolence and power,

Whose everlasting purposes embrace
, All accidents, converting them to good.

The darts of anguish fix not where the seat
Of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified
By acquiescence in the Will Supreme
For time and for eternity ; by faith,

Faith, absolute in God, including hope,

And the defense that lies in boundless love
Of His perfections ; with habitual dread
Of aught unworthily conceived, endured
Impatiently ; ill-done, or left undone,

To the dishonor of His holy name.

Soul of our souls, and safeguard of the world !
Sustain, Thou only canst, the sick of heart ;

Restore their languid spirits, and recall
Their lost affections unto Thee and Thine ! ”

— Wordsworth .

“ He who would undermine those foundations upon
which the fabric of our future hope is reared, seeks
to beat down that column which supports the feeble¬
ness of humanity : let him but think a moment and
his heart will arrest the cruelty of his purpose. Would
he pluck its little treasure from the bosom of poverty ?
Would he wrest its crutch from the hand of age, and
remove from the eye of affection the only solace of

its woe ? The way we tread is rugged at best ; we

«

tread it, however, more lightly by the prospect of the
better country to which, we trust, it will lead. Tell
us not that it will end in the gulf of eternal dissolution,
or break off in some wild, which fancy may fill up

1

684

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

as she pleases, but reason is unable to delineate ;
quench not that beam, which amidst the night of
this evil world, has cheered the despondency of ill-
requited worth, and illumined the darkness of suffering
virtue.” — Mackenzie.

Sir Humphrey Davy, born in poverty, and in an
obcure corner of England, was raised by industry
and merit, unaided by friends, to such distinction,
that he was chosen at the age of twenty-two, to fill
the chair of chemistry in the “Royal Institute” of
London. A few years afterward he was elected
President of the “Royal Society” of London, and
stood confessedly at the head of the chemists of
Europe. His testimony in favor of the consolations
of religion is of the following character : “ I envy,”
says he, “ no quality of the mind or intellect in
others ; not genius, power, wit, or fancy ; but if I
could choose what would be most delightful, and, I
believe, most useful to me, I should prefer a firm
religious belief to every other blessing ; for it makes
life a discipline of goodness; — creates new hopes
when all earthly hopes vanish ; — throws over the
decay, the destruction of existence, the most precious
of all lights; — awakens life even in death, and from
corruption and decay calls up beauty and divinity; —
makes an instrument of torture and shame the ladder
of ascent to paradise ; — and, far above all combina¬
tions of earthly hopes, calls up the most delightful
visions of palms and amaranths, the gardens of the
blessed, the security of everlasting joys, where the

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR. 685

sensualist and the skeptic see only gloom, decay and
annihilation.”

The nature and functions of reverence in man
has already been shown (page 269). It might be
called a high form of respect. As we are molded by
what commands our respect, and as reverence mingles
with all our mental qualities, influencing the direc¬
tion of our affections, and desires, modifying the
imagination in its search for a higher ideal of per¬
fection, and thrilling the spirit with awe at the very
thought of standing in the presence of an all-wise,
all-knowing, and beneficent Creator, we see the far-
reaching influence of a healthy degree of reverence
in making up the perfect man or woman. It is for
our own best good, then, that we yield this duty of
thankfulness and reverence to the Maker of all.

But need we be always told that “it is best for us”
ere we are willing to do our duty? Must we, like
children, be so frequently reminded of the reward to
come to us for doing the right ? If we are yet so weak
in real strength of character, so lacking in real great¬
ness of heart, then this very reverence is the feeling
we need to cultivate. Respect for the right, the pure,
the just, , the good, the loving, — all the sentiments
that combine in a worshipful reverence for the high¬
est — lifts us above selfishness and ennobles us. It
appears, however, as was said in the “Analysis of
Duty ” (page 368), that all duties are one. By doing
our duty toward the Master of the universe, our acts
redound to our own benefit, and in thus improving

686

DUTIES TO THE CREATOR.

ourselves, we do our duty in part toward our fellow

creatures, inasmuch as we thus become better asso-

/

ciates and helpers to them. So the net-work of duty
envelopes us ; and if we but study its character and
scope fully, never wasting our strength in vain strug¬
gles to free ourselves from its guidance, the very
highest good to all will be reached ; and nothing short
of this do we owe to the great Originator. “ Finally,
brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever
things are honest, whatsoever things are just, what¬
soever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely,
whatsoever things are of good report,” these things
you owe to the God who made you, and who unfolds
before you such grand and infinite possibilities.

PHILOSOPHY OF LABOR.

HE rule throughout all nature,
the law of all life, is action. In¬
action is death. Every atom in
creation has its allotted task to
^ perform in order that the entire
scheme of change and progress may
be complete and perfect. We have
seen in the preceding pages that the
elements of man’s nature were all sub¬
ject to improvement by use (pages 24
to 354); that in fact they were little
more than mere capacities of mind and
body at birth, and would always remain
crude and undeveloped in the untrained man or
woman. It requires use, persistent exercise, to bring
out and improve the various capacities of human
nature. It is the old story: action is absolutely

necessary to all growth and progress.

687

688

THE WORLD OF WORK.

Should we be surprised, then, to find that work, —
systematic, well timed work — is always necessary to
man’s highest good ? That labor, rightly understood,
is a blessing and not a curse ? Surely the world is
wise enough to grasp this truth and drop the oriental
doctrine that labor is a penalty, and nothing more
than a penalty. Such narrow teaching has done hurt
enough already. Adam might have lived in Eden
in a blissful idleness, but let us remember that he
went out of the garden a changed mortal ; and
though constant toil was now his portion, let us also
remember that a just, yet loving, God never sends
upon his creatures one curse, but along with it are
two blessings. No! the labor that is wisely chosen
and pursued is but a small curse and a great blessing ;
for, though it sometimes chafes and pains us, it brings
us our highest enjoyments and our dearest rewards.

By far the greater part of the suffering and crime
which exists at this moment in the civilized world,
arises simply from people not understanding the
actual necessity of work, not knowing that produce
or wealth is eternally connected by the laws of
heaven and earth with resolute labor. People are
trying to find some way to cheat or change this ever¬
lasting law of life, and to be warm where they have
not woven, and reap where they have not sown.
A certain quantity of work is necessary to produce a
certain quantity of good, of any kind whatever. If
you want knowledge, you must toil for it ; if food,
you must toil for it ; and if pleasure, you must toil

f

PHILOSOPHY OF LABOR. 68g

for it. But men do not acknowledge this law, or
strive to evade it, hoping to get their knowledge, and
food, and pleasure for nothing; and in this effort
they either fail of getting them and remain ignorant
and miserable, or they obtain them by making other
men work for their benefit, which is the grossest
tyranny and robbery. This century has brought
immense progress in many things useful to mankind,
but one of its serious evils is that we look so care¬
lessly upon dishonesty, heartlessness, and cruelty in
the pursuit of wealth. It is time that we learn the
lesson borne in this mistake, confess the error, and
correct the evil.

History covers nearly six thousand years, and dur¬
ing all that time the race of man has been coming
up through the pain and error of mistakes, and the
joy and victory of discovered truth to a more per¬
fect existence. The occupations of men to-day are
capable of offering greater chances for long, com¬
fortable and mutually useful lives than ever before.
The opportunities of the present for each human
being to gain valuable information, to learn and to
know the nature of the world he lives in, the nature
of himself and his proper business in the world, and
his highest, best and most probable destiny here¬
after, were never equaled in any age or any country.
The recent vast improvements in battling against
disease and untimely death ; the great conquest of
natural forces, bringing them into the service of
man ; and above all the rapidly widening field of
44

69O THE WORLD OF WORK.

general knowledge, perfected science and assured
truth which underlies all and includes all true prog¬
ress, fills us with mingled feelings of reverence and
awe. But let us not forget that man is a maker of mis¬
takes, and common prudence demands that a cautious
watch be set for them. It were well to sometimes
stop and inquire, “What are the mistakes of the
present age ? ”

There is one which seems the natural result of
the excited and hot-blooded speed of our people
to-day, and which is so closely connected with every
stroke of labor of every sort that we cannot ap¬
proach the subject of man’s occupations without
mentioning it. 'That mistake is the false feeling
of heart toward the true beauty and use of work.
Space will not permit a study of the false teachings
which have paved the way for the errors that are
now sapping the vital forces of society in this direc¬
tion. But we know that each man’s belief colors
his daily life, — not his church creed, or his lack of
a church creed, for these are shifted about like coats
and cloaks, — not what he tells to the world as his
belief, for he may never have put his views into
words in his own mind even, though down in his
heart of hearts, are the things he feels that he
knows, and believes — these things shine out in his
every act. When mankind has learned the evident
lesson that every thing in scientific research points
to the conclusion that our race is yet in its youth ;
that every man’s duty is to learn and profit by all

PHILOSOPHY OF LABOR.

69I

his fellows have done before him, and in return to
strive to his utmost to leave some work behind him
which will make the world better for his having lived
in it ; that above all, this life is a training-school for
a higher and purer life beyond, — with what changed
hearts will men labor ! Ah, what a joy there is to
the humble laborer, who feels assured that he is a
necessary link in the great chain, and that the world
would be poorer without him ! Who feels the debt
of sweet gratitude for what has been done by others
for his welfare, and is anxious to repay it by giving
some good of his own to the future — who hears the
progress of all the ages whispering in his ear:
“ Brother, do your work nobly and well, nobly and
well!” Who is thrilled, and calmed, and strengthened
by the grand inspiration of an immortal life ! Let no
man or woman come to the choice and pursuit of an
occupation for life without knowing and feeling some¬
thing of the depth and breadth, the true grandeur

1

and nobility of labor.

Admitting the truth which appears in man’s organi¬
zation as well as in the study of every branch of
nature, that honest work is a constant necessity with
every human being, there still remains the question,
“What kind of work shall I do?”

IRST ®UESTIO^S.

NE important truth commands our attention
here. It is this : The world owes everyone,
instead of a living, a chance to earn a living ;
but never by shiftless, thoughtless labor. In¬
telligence and skill are forever necessary to
the laborer’s own personal good, and we find
in harmony with this fact, that intelligence
and skill are most in demand and most hon¬
ored everywhere. Intelligence and skill, —

let these words dwell in o4r minds always,

«•

for we are all laborers, and have one grand
aim in view, and that is, the highest, completest good.

The very first step toward intelligent work is a study
of myself, my weak points and my strong ones, my
tastes and facilities for engaging in any certain branch
of labor. I have been told again and again about five-
cornered plugs that fell into round holes and were
always a misfit, and about a good carpenter being
wasted in the making of a poor preacher, and the bad
farmer, who might have been a good salesman; but the
advisers always stop short of telling me what my calling
in life was. So, too, your parents or your friends may
advise you, the childish fancies of early youth may weigh
upon you, or the caprice of accidental influences may

turn your mind toward a certain line in life; but none

692

FIRST QUESTIONS. 693-

of these should supersede your own intelligent and
closely studied choice.

I he importance of a thorough knowledge of self
has been already dwelt upon (see page 437), and with¬
out it, surely no intelligent choice can be made. The
advice of friends deserves a courteous and respectful
hearing, for they love us and wish us well ; but their
influence over our choice will depend upon our confi¬
dence in their thorough knowledge of human nature,
their general wisdom and experience, and their oppor¬
tunities to judge of our own peculiarities and abilities.
Then, also, the fancies of childhood are not to be
slighted entirely. Study them closely, and see whence
they came; whether caused by accident or whether
springing up out of our natures. If the latter, then
they may be guiding straws showing us which way the
undercurrents of our nature run. This study of self is
a life-task, and we should constantly make or change
our plans to secure the greatest efficiency. A failure
in any calling, or two failures, or twenty failures, should
not discourage us, but send us with renewed vigor to
the study of ourselves, and the outward circumstances
with which we have to deal. There is an unspeakable
joy and self-satisfaction in doing the work that har¬
monizes with our tastes, and with our supreme aim in
life, and that we feel to be fitted for by nature, — a joy
too few of us ever realize.

Keeping in view all that has appeared in the
earlier pages of this book upon the elements of
human nature, and the proper functions and use of

694

FIRST QUESTIONS.

those elements ; and in the realm of man’s duty, as
outlined on page 369 and treated in detail thereafter,
we now analyze the question : “ What kind of work
shall I do?” and find that it resolves itself into four
other questions.

1. What are the elements of man’s nature, and what
ones are most prominent in myself?

The four questions.

2. What business or work will call for the use of my

strong points, and give me a chance to develop
other points in my character which need to be
improved ?

3. What are the opportunities offered by the business

for being useful to others, for making my fellow-
beings happy, and for constantly improving and
perfecting my own being in all its parts?

4. What are the chances afforded to honestly earn and

insure a comfortable living for myself and those
depending upon me ? *

Like Columbus, whose ambition was to explore
the unknown seas ; or like Elias Howe, who devoted
years to inventing the sewing machine, you may
have some laudable project to carry out or noble
ambition you wish to realize, and which will be
greatly aided by the power of money. If so, the
fourth question would also include the chances for
getting the money needed for the latter purpose.

I am aware that the fourth question, that of the
chances for money making, is generally considered
worthy of the first attention by many who pride
themselves on being practical. But is there not
danger of getting so intensely practical as to over¬
shoot the mark ? Money getting is not naturally,
and never dares to become, the first aim in life.

®CCUPATIONS OF fllAFIKIND.

ANALYSIS.

T would be a most interesting study to
trace the history of man from the earliest
ages down to the present, and see how
each different line of business arose. We
would see how those tribes of men which
remain in a savage or half civilized state
have very few forms of labor, each indi¬
vidual supplying his own wants with but
little assitance from his neighbors. On the
other hand, wherever there was an increase
of knowledge, schools, colleges and of
books ; an increase of means for rapid
traveling and rapid communication of
thought, of comfortable clothing and houses,
of regular and plentiful supplies of good
food, of all the things which constitute civilization,
there was also a constantly increasing division of
labor. We would see one man or set of men, giving
their entire time to some particular line of work, and
depending upon others for other things necessary to
their welfare. No one person lives within himself.
The architect and the carpenter give their whole

time to the work of supplying good houses and

695

696

OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

strong walls and bridges, and while they are about
that, the farmer gives himself wholly to the task of
raising grain that in the end both may have better
houses, safer highways, and better supplies of food
than would otherwise be possible.

It is easy to see why money was invented. Sup¬
pose the carpenter has built a house for the farmer
and desires to remove at once to another state, or

has a large supply of food already on hand, it would

not be convenient for him to take his pay in grain,

but if the farmer can pay him in such a thing as

money, the carpenter can put his entire summer’s
work, as it were, in his pocket, and save it till he
needs food, or can carry it to a distant neighborhood
and there give it to another farmer in exchange for
his needed supplies, and this farmer in turn can
retain the money to pay for any sort of service he
may need. In this extremely simple manner grad¬
ually arose all the great world of business around
us, and it were well to never lose sight of two things
which are plainly shown in the statement : First, the
simple nature and proper use of money as shown in
its origin ; second, the fact that all kinds of legiti¬
mate labor are in close sympathy with each other,
therefore a damage to one form of labor will sooner
or later prove a damage to other forms ; and that
no labor is legitimate or honorable unless it yields a
certain and distinct benefit to humanity.

The prejudice which holds certain lines of work
to be more honorable or more respectable than

ANALYSIS.

697

others, does not confine itself by any means to the
drawing of a line between those professions which
are supposed to favor a life of culture, and those
professions which do not. The idea seems quite a
common one, that it is in some way more respectable
to sell goods over a counter than to follow a
mechanical pursuit ; or, in general terms, that those
avocations which may be followed in fine clothes, are
more dignified than those which may not. That
these distinctions are not founded in justice, reason
or common sense, becomes very plain the moment
we try to trace them to their origin. Yet these very
errors mar many lives which, with more wisdom,
might be useful and true ones.

Before proceeding with the analysis of the occu¬
pations of mankind, the reader is reminded of the
two distinct and separate kinds of labor in which he
may engage. These are mental labor, and bodily, or
as it is usually called, manual, labor. But these. forms
generally intermingle in various degrees in almost any
sort of work, though certain kinds of labor call for
a strength of muscle and body which some men do not
possess, while there are achievements which spring
forth from a completeness of mental power and a
refinement of spiritual inspiration which can be found
only in the person of genius.

It is true that the man whose mental work is
pure reasoning, does not do any manual labor to
complete his task, and his bodily exertions need be

for healthful exercise only ; but there is no manual

*

698

OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

labor, however simple, that can be well done without
the thoughtful attention of the worker, and the rule
is general that the more thought expended by the
laborer upon his task, the better the work will be done
in the end. This fact is in harmony with the law
of man’s nature, that his highest good is always in
the direction of mental growth and improvement.

' In Agriculture.

The Occupations
of Mankind.

In Manufacture
and the Me¬
chanical Arts.

In Commerce.

r Farmers.

Gardeners.

Planters.

Graziers.

Clothing, Cloth and Furniture Makers.
Builders.

Food Preparers.

Vehicle Makers.

Printers and Bookbinders.

Machine and Implement Makers.

Wholesale Dealers.

Retail Dealers.

Middle Men.

In Mining.

f Of Precious Metals.

Of Base Metafs and Fuel Substances.

Philosophers, Authors, and Inventors,
f Of Schools.

Teachers. \ Of Morals and Religion.

In the Learned
Professions. -

[ Lecturers and Editors.

Persons devoted to the Theory or the
Practice of Medicine.

Persons engaged in the Administration of
Law and Justice.

' Musicians.

In the Fine Arts. - Painters.

[ Sculptors.

THE AGRICULTURAL PURSUITS.

'The Agricultural Pursuits.

Agricultural pursuits include ail the ways of drawing
a livelihood directly from Mother Earth, either as a
gatherer or cultivator of grains or fruits, or as a tender
of herds that feed upon the pastures. There are, of
course, many people making specialties of particular
branches, but the common farmer engages more or less
in every detail of agricultural work.

The business of farming was once regarded as a
profession easy to be understood and requiring but
little preparation for its successful practice. But it has
come to be viewed in a very different and much wiser
light. It requires an intimate and practical knowledge
of all the arts of cultivation and management as well as
the nature and value of every kind of live stock, and
still further, a perfect acquaintance with the different
modes of buying and selling, and the constant varying
state of the different markets.

It has been justly said, that no business requires
more talents, perseverance and careful observation than
the cultivation of the soil. The successful farmer
should be a chemist, a botanist, a machinist, a geol¬
ogist, and a good financier.

Well did Washington say, “Agriculture is the most
healthful, the most useful, and the most noble employ¬
ment of man.” The various branches of farming and
stock raising make an employment which is unsur¬
passed for promoting health, strength and vigor. Agri-

700 OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

culture is the basis of wealth and prosperity. The
happiest and most independent people are the tillers
of the soil. They have as great returns from their
labor, and have more leisure time for enjoyment and
self-cultivation than any other class of people in the
world.

In all ages, great honor has been paid to agriculture.
Seven-eighths of the people in every country are dis¬
ciples of the plow. Nearly all our statesmen, ora¬
tors, ministers, historians, poets, and nearly every
man of great renown or wealth sprang from a child¬
hood of country life. As children, they dropped corn
in planting time, they drove cattle to the fields, they
rode the horses to the brook, they hunted the mow for
the nest, and they toiled hard in the harvest field.
And not one of them but remembers these early years
with pride.

Grand as the mighty workshops of the nation are,
the stupendous steam engine manufactures, the im¬
mense machine works, the vast warehouses teeming
with the triumphs of mechanical labor, great railways
bearing their gigantic burdens across the land, grand
as are all these, they are practically of trivial import*
ance compared with a great life of a nation, which lies
in the warming bosom of its soil. From the latter, the
means of existence must come, for if the soil was
rendered barren, the nation itself would crumble to
decay, its workshops tumble to the ground, and its
great highways grow up with weeds.

The person who is contemplating the choice of

THE AGRICULTURAL PURSUITS. 70 1

means to earn a living, and to progress in the line he
has chosen for his inner life, and is busy with the four
questions presented on page 694, may read with inter¬
est the following studies of agricultural life.

»

STUDIES OF AGRICULTURAL LIFE.

The cultivation of the earth is the natural employ¬
ment of man. It is upon the farm that virtue
should thrive best, that the body and mind should
be developed the most healthfully, that temptations
should be the weakest, that social intercourse 'should
be the simplest and sweetest, that beauty should
thrill the soul with the finest raptures, and the life
should be tranquilest in its flow, longest in its
period, and happiest in its passage and its issues.
This is the general and the first ideal of the farmer’s
life, based upon the nature of the farmer’s calling
and a universally recognized human want. Why in
so many cases does the actual differ so widely from
the ideal ? A general answer to this question is,
that that is made an end of life which should be
but an incident or means. Life is confounded with
too much hard labor ; and selfish success is the aim
to which all other aims are subordinate. There is
no fact better established than that hard labor fol¬
lowed from day to day and year to year, absorbing
every thought and every physical energy has the
direct tendency to depress the Intellect, blunt the
Sensibilities, and animalize the man. In such a life
all the energies of the brain and nervous system are

7 02

OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

directed to the support of nutrition and the stimu¬
lation of the muscular system. Man thus becomes a
beast of burden, and though he may add barn to
barn, acre to acre, he does not lead a life which
rises in dignity above that of the beasts which drag
his plow. He eats, he works, he sleeps. Surely
there is no dignity in a life like this. There is
nothing attractive and beautiful and good in it. It
is a mean, contemptible life ; all its associations and
objects are repulsive to a mind which apprehends
life’s true enjoyments and ends. It is a pestilent
perversion. It is a sale of the soul to the body.
It is turning the back upon the true life, upon
growth, upon God, and descending in to animalism.
The true ideal of the farmer’s life — of any life —
contemplates something outside of, and above, the
calling which is its instrument. No man should
limit his own knowledge to the limits of his calling —
there are realms of thought and enjoyment beyond
this. The farmer’s life is no better than the life of a
street-sweeper, if it rise no higher than mere farmer’s
work. If the farmer, standing under the broad sky,
breathing the pure air, listening to the songs of
birds, watching the progress of “the great miracle
that still goes on ” working the transformation of
brown seeds which he drops in the soil into fields
of green and gold, does not apprehend that his
farm has higher uses for him than those of feeding
his person and his purse, he might as well dwell
in a coal mine. Money getting should not be the

STUDIES OF AGRICULTURAL LIFE. 703

highest aim, the chief end of the farmer. Labor is
essential — but exclusive devotion to labor fourteen
hours every day of the year means both physical
and mental wreck.

One-half of our farmers are physically and intel¬
lectually gentlemen ; they are handsome, courageous,
possess fine instincts, brilliant imaginations, courtly
manners, and fine mental force. The other half of
our farmers are ugly, of stunted stature and pug¬
nacious ; and they produce children like themselves.
They live in cramped houses, where the women toil
incessantly from the time they rise till the time they
go to bed at night. Such farmers believe that work
is the great thing — that efficiency in work is the
crowning excellence of manhood — they glory above
all things in brute strength and brute endurance —
their homes are unloved and unlovable things, and
as soon as the son gets a taste of better life and a
worthier style of existence, what inducements can
retain him ? He hates the farm, and flees from it
at the first opportunity.

Every person should be proud of his business.
Farmers should educate their children to cultivate
the soil and they must make their business easier so
their children will not hate it. The boy must not be
taught that tilling the soil is a curse and almost a
disgrace ; they must not suppose that education is
thrown aways upon children who are to spend their
lives in the profession of farming. It must be under¬
stood that education is just as essential and can be

;o4

OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

used to as great an advantage on the farm as in any
other line of life.

Farmers should raise their sons to be independent
through labor, to pursue the business for themselves
and upon their own account, to be self-reliant, to
act upon their own responsibilities and take the conse¬
quences like men. Teach them above all things how
to become good honest citizens, to make true and
tender husbands, to be winners of love and builders
of homes. Give your sons and daughters every advan¬
tage within your power. In the balmy air of kindness
they will grow about you like flowers, they will fill
your homes with sunshine and all your days with
gladness.

Farmers’ wives can do much to facilitate the
progress of their Husbands by taking charge of the
household duties, pleasures and comforts. A healthy
home, presided over by a thrifty and cleanly woman,
may be the abode of comfort, of virtue and of happi¬
ness. It may be the scene of every ennobling relation
of life. It may be endeared to man by many delightful
memories, by the affectionate voices of wife and
children. Such a home will be the training ground
of childhood, a sanctuary for the heart, a refuge from
trouble, a sweet resting place after labor, a consolation
in sorrow, a pride in success and a joy at all times.
Mothers, wives, sisters, remember you are the cher-
ishers of infancy, the instructors of childhood, the
guides and counsellors of youth, the confidants and
companions of manhood.

STUDIES OF AGRICULTURAL LIFE. 705

Another cause which has tended to the deteriora¬
tion of the farmers life is its loneliness. It is difficult
to determine why isolation produces the effect it does
upon human development. The man who plants him¬
self and his wife in a forest, will generally become a
coarse man and raise coarse children. The lack of
the social element in the farmer’s life is doubtless
a cause of some of its most repulsive characteristics.
Men are constituted in such a manner that constant
social contact is necessary to the healthfulness of their
sympathies, the quickness of their intellects and the
symmetrical development of their powers. It matters
little whether a family be placed in the depths of
a western forest or upon the top of an eastern hill :
the result of solitude will be the same in kind if not
in degree. Farmers who seldom go into society, who
seldom dine with their neighbors, or who take no
genuine satisfaction in the company of visitors, are
not men among men and women, — intellectually they
are very apt to leave life where they began it.
Socially they become dead. The farmers life and
home can never be what they should be, attractive
and lovable, until they become more social. The
tree that springs in the open field, though it be fed
by juices of a thousand acres, will present a hard
and stunted growth, while the little sapling of the
forest, seeking for life among a million roots, or
growing in a crevice of a rock, will lift to the light
its cap of leaves upon a graceful stem and whisper
even-headed, with the stateliness of its neighbors.

45

7 06 OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

Men, like trees, were made to grow together, and
both history and philosophy declare that this divine
intention cannot be ignored or frustrated with
impunity.

Traditional routine has also operated powerfully
to diminish the attractiveness of farming. This cause
grows less powerful from year to year. He has his
life among the most beautiful scenes of nature and
the most interesting facts of science. What is intel¬
ligent farming but a series of experiments ? What
is a farm but a laboratory where the most important
and interesting scientific problems are solved? The
moment that any field becomes intelligently experi¬
mental, that moment routine ceases and that field
becomes attractive. The most repulsive things under
heaven become attractive, on being invested with
a scientific interest. All, therefore, that a farmer has
to do to reduce the traditional routine of his method

and hks labor, is to become a scientific farmer.

♦

He will then have an interest in his labor and its

results, above their utilities. Labor that does not

engage the mind has no dignity, else the ox and

the ass are kings in the world, and we are younger

brothers in the royal family. So we say to every

»

farmer, if you would make your calling attractive to
yourself and your sons, seek that knowledge which
will break up routine and make your calling to yourself
and to them, an intelligent pursuit.

Another fact which we cannot but regard as one
among the many causes which have conspired to

STUDIES OF AGRICULTURAL LIFE. JOJ

despoil the farmer’s calling of some of its legitimate
attractions, is the lack of any kindred sentiments of
pride in landed property and family affection for the
parental homestead. Most of our landholders will
sell their homesteads as readily as they will their
horses. Very likely the father has rooted up all home
attachments by talking of removing westward ever
since the boy saw the light. There should be a love
and ambition for proprietorship. Where landed
property is handed down for generations, there is
generally to be found charming intelligence and the
politest culture.

The contaminating influences of illiterate and
debased help is one of the most evil things to
which farmers’ children are subject. Such associations
are most degrading. Where hired help is needed,
those should be chosen whose moral characters are
unquestionable and whose associations are pure and
elevating.

There is another great cause which has been a
serious drawback to farming life, which cannot be
recovered from in many years. An inquiry at the
doors of the great majority of our farmers, would
exhibit the general fact that the brightest boys have
become mechanics, or have gone to college, or are
teaching- school, or are in trade. The best material
have been sifted out and have slid away. There have
been taken directly out of our farming population
its best elements, its quickest intelligence, its most
stirring enterprise, its noblest and most ambitious

708

OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

natures — precisely those elements which are necessary
to elevate the standard of the farmer’s calling and
make it what it should be.

It is very easy to see why these men have not
been retained in the past ; it is safe to predict that
they will not be retained in the future, unless a
thorough reform be instituted.

These men cannot be kept on a routine farm, or
tied to a home which has no higher life that a work¬
shop or a boarding house. It is not because the
work of the farm is hard that men shun it. They
will work harder and longer in other callings for the
sake of a better style of individual and social life.
They will go to the city and cling to it while half
starving, rather than engage in the dry details and
hard and homely associations of the life which they
forsook. The boys are not the only members of
the farmer’s family that flee from a farmer’s life.
The most intelligent and the most interprising of the
farmer’s daughters become school teachers, tenders
of stores, or factory girls. They contemn the calling
of their father, and will, nine times out of ten, marry
a mechanic in preference to a farmer. They know
that marrying a farmer is very serious business.
They remember their worn-out mothers. They thor¬
oughly understand that the vow that binds them in
marriage to a farmer, seals them to a severe and
homely service, that will end only in death. The
farmer needs more new ideas, more and better imple¬
ments. A process of regenerations must begin in

STUDIES OF AGRICULTURAL LIFE. 709

the mind. The farmer must be proprietor of the
soil he cultivates. His house should be the home
of hospitality, the embodiment of solid comfort and
liberal taste, the theater of an exalted family life
which shall be the master and not the servant of
labor, and the central sun of a bright and social
atmosphere. When this standard shall be reached,
there will be no fear of agriculture. The noblest
race of men and women the sun ever shone upon
will cultivate these valleys and slopes, and they will
cling to a life which blesses them with health, plenty,
individual development, and social progress and hap¬
piness. This is what the farmer’s life may be and
should be ; and if it ever rises to this in America,
no other line of life can entice her children away,
and waste land will become as scarce at last as
vacant lots in Paradise.

Human life will stand in the fore-ground of such
a home, — human life crowned with dignities and
graces, — while animal life will be removed among
the shadows, and the gross material utilities, taste¬
fully disguised, will be made to retire into an unof¬
fending and harmonious perspective. There is no
sweeter way to live than in the quiet country, away
from the treacherous race for power and money.
Surrounded by pleasant fields of growing corn and
ripening wheat, among kind, faithful neighbors, in a
cozy and comfortable cottage with vines twining over
the door and windows, and grapes growing purple
in the kisses of the sun, amidst the perfume of

710 OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

beautiful flowers and the merry songs of birds,
where husband is loving his wife, and wife is lov¬
ing her husband, and the dimpled arms of children
are playing around the necks of both. There let
life flow on in deep and untroubled serenity, — let
joy and love reign supreme.

.Manufactures, Commerce and Mining.

The tendency of all civilized society toward that
division of labor which puts one man to work at one
thing and another at some other necessary task, has
been already mentioned. The advantage of organized
society, allowing each to give his undivided attention
to the study and perfection of some one special work,
is almost beyond calculation ; yet people, in engaging
in a business, seldom think of this matter, and of the
relation they or their work bears toward the rest of
mankind. Manufacture, skilled labor, commerce and
mining, are so closely related, and the persons engaged
in one are so often called upon to take more or less of
a share in work common to all, that we cannot well con¬
sider them separately. The manufacturer is generally
more or less a commercial man, for he must find cus¬
tomers to buy his wares. He must be a good solicitor,
for he must enlist the aid of others in making his goods
and in placing those goods into the hands of the con¬
sumers. He needs a fair knowledge of the true nature
and worth of the work done by every skilled artisan he
employs. It is perhaps fair to say that the successful

MANUFACTURES, COMMERCE AND MINING. 7 1 I

manufacturer needs more general information and a
broader power of mind than does the man who is
engaged with some minor division of the work.

The person engaged in trade alone is filling a very
useful field in society. His great study is, first, to know
the true wants of the public ; second, to find ways of
supplying those wants satisfactorily, while securing for
himself an honest profit as pay for his services.

The business of mining the precious metals never
received the attention of any large share of human
beings. It is usually full of personal danger, moral as
well as physical, for the man is slow to understand the
difference which really exists between drawing a lump
of gold out of a mountain, or drawing it across a gam¬
bling table. By far the largest amount of all kinds of
mining is done by mining companies, who employ
laborers at stated wages, when the whole business
becomes of the same nature as manufacturing, and
should be thought about in the same way.

Along with every line of work must lie the lives
of hundreds of worthy-hearted people, who lack the
ability, or the training, or the capital, or the oppor¬
tunity to be other than salaried workers. Indeed,
many of the most skilled artizans are, from the nature
of their business, workers for stated wages. The worst
feature in a life of this sort is the discontent which
arises from false views of life, and sometimes takes
possession of the mind. Every salaried laborer should
remember that the head of the business who pays his
wages is also governed by a master whose rules are

712 OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

inexorable. Circumstances which cannot be controlled
very often mold that business. Then there is, in the
commonest laborer, and the poorest life, so long as it is
honorable and is pointing its way onward and upward,
a nobility as true and as pure as can ever adorn the
lives of those who fill a broader sphere. The toiler
may have worked hard and earnestly all day long, and
at evening an error forfeited him his wages. That
night his thoughts might have been discouraging had
he not remembered that his experience was valuable for
the next day if he chose to study it closely, and beside
this, the very weariness of body, and the hardship and
toil of the day, are noble in themselves, and are ever
the fruitful soil of greatness.

Let laborers in every branch of life remember the
steps which lead to higher and better tasks. First is
intelligence, then energy, then strength, then experi¬
ence, — cultivate them all while life lasts, for out of
these grow tact and skill, and all honorable advance¬
ment.

This term is used in the analysis to include all those
occupations which are mainly characterized by mental
work, and which cannot usually be engaged in without
a broad and thorough general information, and a more
or less careful and lengthy special training of the mind.
These are, in some respects, the highest callings to
which any one can aspire ; high, not because the labor
is any more respectable, but because of the difficulty

THE LEARNED PROFESSIONS. 713

and the responsibility of it. There is a false notion
common in the minds of some that these occupations
are more honorable than others, and it has unduly
swayed many a person in choosing a course in life. We
have, perhaps, sometimes honored successful profes¬
sional people more than good taste or good judgment
should really sanction, but the world is rapidly near¬
ing the time when in every case, it will be the true
strength and perfection of manhood and womanhood,
and the actual work done, that will alone command
the homage of men.

The reader who is examining the nature and
scope of the learned professions, either with the
view of entering some one of them, or for the sake
of understanding and appreciating them, will pause
with reverence at the mention of the names of such
philosophers as St. Paul, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle,
Gallileo, Kepler, Bacon, Newton, and all the more
recent men who have devoted whole lives to delving
in the depths of knowledge and searching after new
truths; men who looked upon all there is of money,,
and of fine living, and of worldly riches and honor
as but the merest dross, compared with the match¬
less beauty and solace of truth. Christ himself, as
a man, was a philosopher. These stand already in
the near presence of Divinity, and turn their eager
eyes ever toward the home of ultimate truth, d hen
there are the authors, who write books that truth
may be recorded and the world instructed ; and the
author will be found to be something of a philoso-

7 14 OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

pher as well, else his wonderful powers of observa¬
tion would not yield him many thoughts worth
recording. A patient and long-suffering worker is
the inventor, who studies all the laws governing a
problem that he may discover some means of sur¬
mounting an obstacle, or place some new and useful
powe. into the hands of men.

Probably the most responsible positions of all are
those of the teachers or educators, who, either in the
school - room or through the columns of the news¬
paper and magazine, or in the lecture hall or the
pulpit, teach the world what it shall think and
feel They are moulders of public opinion. They
stand receiving from philosophers the bread of truth
and wisdom, and breaking it up and dispensing it
among the hungering multitude.

It is perhaps true that the practice of medicine
has more of real bodily labor and hardship in it
than any other profession classed along with mental
labor. The true physician was led into his call¬
ing by sympathy with his fellow -man, and having
devoted his life to the relief of pain and suffering
he never hesitates while his strength lasts to hasten
to the spot where his services are needed. For this
he sacrifices every personal comfort, if necessary.
His pay is generally liberal, but never can be as
much as he really deserves ; and were it not for the
deep and genuine gratitude yielded him from the
heart of the saved sufferer, his life would sometimes
be a weary one. His work, if followed to its ulti-

I

THE LEARNED PROFESSIONS. 715

mate end, will carry him up past the practice of his
art into the region of theory, the investigation of the
most profound laws of nature and life, that he may
discover more surely the true laws of health and the
prevention and cure of disease.

The legal profession has been much abused ; but
whether abused most by an ignorant public or its own
unworthy members, would perhaps be difficult to say.
Law and justice are so great, so grand, so deep and
broad, and divine, that men cannot easily understand
them, or appreciate their dignity. No doubt the heart
of every young student at law swells with enthusiasm
occasionally, but tasks grow hum-drum, and he falls at
last into a common-place life, and drags all he knows
of the profession with him. There is no disputing
the fact that this calling has far more followers than
it needs or can find any use for ; and this is true
in regard to almost all the occupations of this class.
The common practice of school teachers and parents of
leading all the most intellectual children, to think that
no life is so worthy and honorable as the “ learned
professions,” is one of the most outrageous evils
of the day. It leads many a worthy young life to
bitter disappointment and a fruitless despair.

In the fine arts, music, painting and sculpture, a
limited number of people find an inspiration which
renders their toil happy, ‘ and an occupation which
brings them all 1 the rewards which follow honorable
labor. The law: of the beautiful in forms and colors
has in later years been carried into almost all branches

yi 6 OCCUPATIONS OF MANKIND.

of practical life. Every article that we use, from the
plow or the farm-wagon to the delicate fabrics that
clothe our wives and daughters, is made as handsome
as the nature of its use will allow. And this is well.
Beauty, so long as it is natural, and does not interfere
with true and proper use, yields a refining influence
upon our lives. But that art which cultivates the beau¬
tiful for the mere sake of beauty, is unnatural and
demoralizing. And that art which allows itself to
present beauty so chosen and arranged that it will
draw men toward the animal and the sensual side of
their nature, is at once debasing and contemptible.
There is room here, and, indeed, a powerful demand,
for genius to come to the rescue of an influence that
ought always be in harmony with the highest good
of mankind. Pure civilization and true progress is
calling loudly, almost piteously, upon the great musi¬
cians, painters and sculptors, to cease molding their
ideals upon the patterns and the conceptions that
sprang up in an age when the world was ignorant of
many things, and peculiarly vicious in many others.
The ancient Greeks and Romans, in their latter days
of luxury, their Oriental neighbors and descendants,
were people who, as a class, held feasting, sensu¬
ality, riotous pleasure and idle basking in summer’s
soft breezes and sunshine to be the highest possible
enjoyment either kings or commoners could attain.
Can the art that was fostered in such an age, that
grew out of such a life, be in true harmony with
our age whose higher inspiration is “Work,” and

THE LEARNED PROFESSIONS.

717

whose watchword is that grand word, “Duty” ? Shall
we take the art that was'"' conceived to heighten such
coarse, licentious pleasures as those'- into our homes
of to-day, to cheer our lives, to breathe its spirit
upon our wives and daughters, to add strength and
purity to the growth of our sons? The thought is
revolting. Who will be the ones to immortalize
their names by filling the modern world with pure
conceptions of music, painting and sculpture, in har-

9

mony with our higher and nobler ideals of life ?

The branch of mind most called into play by the
artist, is imagination (pages 129 to 142). The mental
qualification most needed in any of the occupations,
however, is apparent to every thoughtful reader,
especially with the hints that are continually given
throughout the various analyses of the elements of
mind in all our earlier pages.

jlO.NEY Ah KING.

®L _

' ^GvTT^

,HE common multitude seem to be busy
with the two aims : first, to get money ;
second, to prove to their neighbors that
they have it. The shame and the mis¬
chief of the case among us is in the inor-
dinate greed, the universal scramble for
money, not for its proper uses, but for
selfish or vulgar misuses of it. We are a
nation of money seekers, — not from the
miserly avarice which gathers and hoards
it merely for its own sake, but for the
sake of the homage it secures, the power
or influence it gives, or the rivalry with
others in ostentatious display which the
extravagant expenditure of it enables one
to maintain. We are terribly a nation of money-
seekers for these and the like selfish and compara¬
tively ignoble ends, with scarcely a thought or a
desire of becoming able to do good and promote

the welfare of society, actuating and sanctifying the
eager, incessant struggle after riches. This is the

shame. And the mischief is not only in the lower¬
ing effect on the spirit of the people and on the
tone of social life (which is both cause and effect

718

NATURE AND USE OF MONEY. - 719

of extravagant expenditure and coarse, “showy”
rivalry,) but in the reckless gambling disposition,
the unscrupulousness, the shipwreck of integrity and
honor, the defalcations and falseness to trusts, the
dishonesties and frauds, that are engendered in this
intense selfish struggle after great and quick-gained
riches. We are going, morally, the road downward
with tremendous accelerating velocity, and where
shall we come ? Pandemonium was built and paved
with molten gold.

NATURE AND USE OF MONEY.

We have seen how the need for money arose,
and its proper use in life. (Page 696.) Now
since worth, or value has thus, by the common
consent of mankind, been concentrated and com¬
pressed into the small space of a bit of metal or
a strip of paper, it has become possible to hold
the fruit of a whole years labor of a thousand
men like a feather between the thumb and fingers.
Money is concentrated force and power, and it is
little wonder that the pursuit of money has finally
grown into an absorbing passion with mankind.
(See 296.) It will be noticed that the value of
money is changeable. If I must do a third more
work for a dollar now than was demanded last year,
then the price of money has advanced one third ;
and if I have money, I can obtain with it one
third more of service. Money is worth nothing
beyond what it costs or what we can get for it.

720

MONEY MAKING.

It must also be born in mind that money, like
everything else, must be purchased with something ;
and whether we choose to have wealth or not, will
depend upon what we are called upon to give for
it. Professor Agassiz said : “ I have not time to
make money,” and with all his ability to amass a
fortune almost without an effort, he died, owning
nothing except his liberty and a mortgaged home¬
stead. The making of money would have been

very easy to him. His vast store of knowledge
might have been turned into popular books and
lectures, almost without labor, and money would
have flowed into his lap. He had need of money,
too, and could have used it to a better advantage
than most men can. But he could not afford to
buy it. The cost he must pay for it was time,
and he felt that to be more precious than any¬

thing else. His hours were worth more than the
money they could buy, and he being a wise man,
refused to purchase at a price which he thought
too high. The truth is, we are apt to be tempted
to make more money than we can afford. We
have, or ought to have, certain hopes and aspira¬
tions in life which are too dear to be sacrificed for

money. As a general rule we cannot secure wealth

and also accomplish any other important work in life,
and we ought to make our choice in the start.

Many continue to try to get wealth, and hope to

get it, and even allow themselves to become un¬
happy when they fail to get it, though they are

NATURE AND USE OF MONEY. 7 21

all the time refusing to pay the necessary price for
it. Every one must decide for himself how much
money he can afford to make.

This brings a man at once to another question,
“How much money have I a right to make?” We
all live in the enjoyment of many improvements
wrought out for us by the faithful of the past, and
the only way we can pay the debt is to bequeath
to the future some worthy achievement of our own.
Besides, we should choose that work for which
nature has best fitted us. It is possible that the
chief aim of our lives is one requiring money for
its especial accomplishment. The nature of the aim
will decide. Peter Cooper wished to found institutes
and charities, and he gathered wealth for that pur¬
pose, but had Agassiz stopped to secure money his
chosen work would have suffered. The general rule
seems to be that it is each one’s duty to make
money enough to supply the proper needs of life
for himself and those depending upon him, and
after that is done, it is his privilege to make as
much more money as he can without interfering
with the rights of others, or sacrificing his own
nobler purposes.

The salient points about money and money mak¬
ing may be summarized as follows :

1. Money is nothing but a tool for the con¬
venience of mankind.

2. Like any other commodity, it must be pur¬
chased, and its value varies under varying circum-

46

I

722 MONEY MAKING.

stances. We should beware of paying too high a
price for it.

3. Each person must find out the extent of his
ability to make money, and then decide how much
he can afford to make. .

4. One’s duty to make money is marked by the
amount necessary to secure the needs of life for
himself and those depending on him.

5. One’s privilege to make money is limited
by the amount he can make without encroaching
upon the rights and happiness of others, and with¬
out sacrificing the nobler aims and ends of his own
life.

Aiding Influences.

SUCCESSFUL SOLICITING.

ERY few lines of business can be built to
any magnitude, or even brought to a
successful completion by the unaided efforts
of one individual. We need at almost every
step to enlist the sympathy or the aid of
others. And even in the every day relations
of family, friendship, and society, it is not
enough that our wishes are pure and just :
we need to present them in a manner
that will most nearly secure all the attention and
co-operation they deserve.

We are all solicitors. Not only those who have
trades to drive in a business way, but those who
have bargains to make in the commonest social affairs,
those who have a cause to champion, or have opinions
they wish to spread among men. In every act of
life where we persuade, ask, or influence another to
anything, we stand for a moment under the common
name, a solicitor. To be a good solicitor is to have
in our hands one of the most potent powers in the
world.

If, in order to make a man act, or even believe, as

we would have him, it were only necessary to convince

723

724

AIDING INFLUENCES.

his understanding, the task of carrying our points would
be much more simple; logic and reason (pages 143 to
178 and developed in “How to Think,” page 179)
would be sufficient ; but we are all beings of feelings
and passions as well as of reason, and must be treated
accordingly. Many a person who is granted to be
skillful in argument never really accomplishes much.
He convinces people, but he does not move them to
act. Such arguers are supremely ignorant of the
nature of the human mind, or else they simply neglect
the fact that the road to the Will, where actions arise,
does not lie through the Intellect alone, but through
the Sensibilities as well. The really shrewd and suc¬
cessful solicitor chooses his arguments and presents
them in such a way that almost every appeal to any
branch of the understanding or Intellect (see analysis,
page 66) strikes at the same time a responsive chord
somewhere in the range of the feelings or Sensibilities
(see analysis, page 254.) Daniel Webster in his
famous speech at the Bunker Hill Monument, after
numerous excellent arguments addressed to the Intel¬
lects of his hearers closes with the following appeal to
their hearts : “ And when both we and our children

shall have been consigned to the grave, may love of
country and pride of country glow with equal fervor
among those to whom our names and our blood shall
have descended ! And then, when honored and decrepit
age shall lean against the base of this monument, and
troops of young people shall be gathered around it,
and they speak together of its objects, the purposes of

SUCCESSFUL SOLICITING. 725

its construction, and recount the great and glorious
events with which it is connected, there shall spring
from every youthful heart the exclamation, ‘ Thank
God, I — I also — am an American!’” Truly a most
masterly stroke upon those chords of love of home,
friends and country which exist in the hearts of all.

But there is another extreme which is just as dan¬
gerous as a neglect of the Sensibilities, and that is try¬
ing to win a cause by appealing entirely to the hearts
of people and neglecting their intelligence or Intellect.
People induced to act without proper and sufficient
reasons will regret their course and antagonize their
adviser the moment they obtain better information, or
have time for cool reflection. That lover who does not
try to dwell forever in a vernal season of roses and
sunshine, but who now and then suggets the practical
summer-time of labor, an occasional stormy day, and
an autumn of the well-earned harvests of life, will be
most sure to win a sensible sweetheart ; and when he
has thus captured both the head and the heart he can
feel the assurance of a conquest far more honorable
and complete.

A few persons have the taste or tact by nature of
always presenting their plea in a manner which harmon¬
izes so fully with the natural and true method that they
seldom fail in having an honorable request granted.
People seem to fall in with their plans, and freely yield
co them a hearty sympathy and aid. Nature makes a
few such perfect solicitors, but their number is very
small. We call such persons lucky, but there is a

726

AIDING INFLUENCES.

method and a law in their luck, even though they do
not suspect it themselves. Let us analyze the solicitor’s
work :

1

The Solicitor’s Work. -

r 1. Securing a hearing, — a free and unprejudiced
hearing, if possible.

2. Presenting the project or plea, in its parts skill¬
fully, and as to its merits, justly and completely.

3. Yielding honorable aid and information to assist
^the solicited party in forming a decision.

i. Securing a hearing. — The manufacturer, the farmer
and the miner must find a market for their products.
The dealer must both buy and sell. The teacher labors
to secure the respectful attention of his learners, the
preacher to command hearers, and the editor, the author,
the lecturer, or the artist labors for years to make the
public willing to hear him or to pause and look upon his
work. It is not the salesman with his line of samples
seeking an audience with a prospective customer that
furnishes us the only or the best example. From the
minister of the gospel laboring to lead a man to a higher
life, the farmer competing for a premium that his stock
may be advertised, the canvasser who joins hands with
the author in securing readers for a new book, the pur¬
chaser of supplies for the manufacturer, the wife who is
winning a husband’s acquiescence, the social or political
leader of the smallest sort, down through every avenue
of life, even to the little boot-black who seeks the
groups of men resting leisurely in the quietest nooks of
the hotel, where he can most surely secure a glance of

recognition and a modicum of his heart’s desire, — all

♦

are in one way or another “ securing a hearing.”

SUCCESSFUL SOLICITING. 727

The one chief point in this first step of the
solicitor’s work is to have an unprejudiced hearing
if possible ; that is, his hearer’s mind should be
entirely free from prejudice regarding the business,
and have no opinions formed before hand concern¬
ing it. This is often very difficult to secure, but it
should always be sought and attained as far as pos¬
sible. The merchant who from some slight cause con¬
cludes that the new customer coming in to-morrow is
not a trustworthy man, and shall not receive much
courtesy, is making a mistake which may loose him a
good customer and do grave injustice to both. The
wise advertiser seldom finds it advisable to so fully
explain his business in the advertisement as to afford
his prospective customers room to complete an opinion
before he has a chance to talk further to them. The
sinner who knows the hour when the divine adviser
is coming, and the probable line of talk that will
follow, is liable to imagine in advance what the inter¬
view shall be and close his ears, and harden his heart
against both the messenger and the message. This
is very wrong, of course. One of the first principles
of law and justice is that we shall never pass an
opinion upon a thing only thought about and not
fairly examined, nor judge a man unheard. In every
occupation, then, the person who at any moment
becomes, in any sense, a solicitor, should use every
honorable means to secure from the person approached
an unprejudiced hearing.

2. Presenting the project , or plea . — Here lies the

728

AIDING INFLUENCES.

largest part of the work. As solicitors, we need to
know all the elements of human nature, both as it
should be, and as it is. Our information must be
perfect in general, and we must be able to judge
the person we are talking to in particular. We
should be so at home in this knowledge that we will
act upon it almost without a thought, for there are
always many minor circumstances to watch in an inter¬
view with even an old friend. In our work of influ¬
encing others to act, we must remember that a man
may believe, and yet not act upon his belief. To
influence his Will, it is necessary to influence the
active principles of his nature. To win assent to
a statement is easy enough, but to secure active
co-operation is not so easy. To make a millionaire
contribute liberally to a public charity, it is not
enough to convince him that the object is a worthy
one ; it is necessary to make him feel its claims
upon him. The only way to do this is to arouse his
sympathy.

The solicitor, then, must be full of sympathy ; he
must be able to feel himself, and to take others to
the source of feeling ; but there is a danger here
of which every leader of public opinion should beware.
Arousing a flood of feelings greater than the facts
justify is very wrong. To say, “There must be a
God because I love Him,” or to say, “That man
is a rascal because I hate him,” is a kind of armament
both silly and unjust. Yet impulsive people are guilty
of it every day. Beware of extremes. Ignorant and

SUCCESSFUL SOLICITING. 729

uncultivated people give too much heed to the feelings,
while the fault of the educated is that of neglecting
the heart too much. As has already been said, the
only true road to a proper and active influence over
others, is through both the Intellect and the Sensi¬
bilities. To make the millionaire feel the claims of
charity upon him in particular, he must be taken
into the presence of the objects of the charity, or
those objects must be presented before him so viv¬
idly that his mind grasps the picture, and his heart
responds to its influence.

To accomplish this latter task the solicitor needs,
in addition to sympathy, a vivid imagination. These
combined will give him enthusiasm. Enthusiasm has
been a grand power in enlightening the world. A
strong mechanical aid in awakening enthusiasm is a
rapid utterance of words. All the world over, in every
branch of nature’s laws, rapidity is closely related
to heat, and heat is closely related to light. A rapid
utterance of words stirs the spirit from indifference
into excitement, both your spirit and the spirit of
your hearer; it raises a gentle, genial glow over
the whole nervous system. A succession of quick,
decisive sentences, freely and easily delivered, will
often kindle the mind into a luminous heat, like so
many blasts from a pair of bellows. Enthusiasm, it
is by all agreed, is a necessary accompaniment of
greatness. For great things it is required in a great
degree, and it is requisite for success in all. And so
intimately is the idea of enthusiasm blended with

730 AIDING INFLUENCES.'

that of rapidity in word and action, that to hear of
a slow, dull, heavy enthusiast would seem as strange
as to be told of a frozen spark, or a flaming icicle.
We should repudiate it as a flat contradiction in
terms. If, then, you would temper yourself to the
life-giving warmth, the fine glow of enthusiasm, if
you would take an important step toward greatness
of mind, cultivate rapidity ; and, in proportion as you
succeed, you will be so much nearer to your object.

It is not meant by this that everyone who has
the power to talk rapidly should always be using it.
There is no need of this, any more than a perfect
mistress of the piano should always be hurrying
over the keys ; on the contrary, in conversation as
in music, it is the great advantage of rapid executors
that they can vary their time, adjust their tones and
cadences to the demands of their subject, whereas
all that a slow, heavy talker or performer can do is
merely to repeat his tediousness in the same drawl¬
ing strain. Again, such people are always at a
dead pull, they are never well off ; while the first
impulse, if the a man has energy enough and decision
enough to start briskly, to commence every sentence
forwardly, will carry him along to the end of it. He
is not conscious of any drag, he is going down an
inclined plane, till the moment that he stops again
to collect himself. By all means, then, quicken your¬
self, work yourself into the command of rapidity.

But how is this to be done? Read, practice
for reading to others, rapidly ; commit to memory

SUCCESSFUL SOLICITING. 73 I

printed conversations and recite them with proper
sense, but rapidly, very rapidly ; rave, if you please ;
anything to give yourself the tongue of a ready
speaker. Wind yourself to a high pitch. Make
yourself instinct with the spirit of the orators, poets,
historians, or dramatic persons that you represent.
Temper the coolness of your clay with a little bar-
rowed fire. Be strong, and faint not. But, what¬
ever you are about, do it for the time being as if
you had been born for no other purpose. And,
above all, despise not the day of little tilings, as
many fantastic fools pretend to do. Consider that
there are many things in daily practice of no use
or significance in themselves, except insomuch as
they prepare us for other things beyond them.

Finally, the lesson of the scope and use of sym¬
pathy in the business affairs of life lies in the fact
that whatever we would have men do well we must
have them do it heartily, — from the heart; — and
that other fact which Goethe puts into words thus :
“You can never move the hearts of others with
what comes not out of your own heart.”

The great aid which a good imagination (page 129)
gives a solicitor is the power to present his knowledge
of his business to his hearers in life-like and vivid pict¬
ures. A thorough knowledge of the plea we are to
sustain, the cause we are to champion, is first ; then
presentation of that knowledge to another is the next
step. I bring to you some day the face, in miniature,
of one very beautiful. You look upon it, and say,

O

/o-

AIDING INFLUENCES.

“ Who is that ? ” I describe the person and give you
the name. You say, “ It is a beautiful face.” But you
do not, after looking at it, feel that you are acquainted
with the person. Now I will take you home with me
and introduce you to the friend whose name belongs to
this picture ; but still you would not feel that you know
her. You salute her morning and evening, converse
with her, and take part in the social festivities. You
admire her tact, her delicacy, and her beauty. You say
the acquaintance opens well. She seems to you very
lady-like and attractive. On the Sabbath day the bible-
class assembles, and you go with your friend. In the
recitations and the low-toned conversations she shows
great knowledge and moral feeling, a bright intellect,
and careful judgment. But, still, you do not feel that
you know her. Then you fall sick, and pass through
that interval just after a severe illness which one some¬
times has, — the coming dawn after a long night, the
morning of returning health.

In that time the hours are to be filled up, and she
becomes a ministering angel unto you. She is full of
resources for your comfort. You notice the wisdom of
her management, the power she has to stimulate thought,
to play with the imagination, and to cheer the heart.
You are making the acquaintance of one whose portrait
you had seen, but nothing more. And by thus living
in communion with you, she has affected you, little by
little, in such a manner that it has been brought home
to you, and you say, “ I have found a friend!” “Well,
who was she? Did you know her when you first

SUCCESSFUL SOLICITING.

/JO

saw her portrait ? ” “ No ! ” The knowledge of which

we speak comes only with acquaintance.

So must you acquaint yourself with the cause
you are to champion, the article you are to sell,
the doctrine you are to teach. You must live in its
company, see it from all sides, appreciate its weak
points, and make its excellencies a part of your own
being. Thus may you have vivid, rich, changeful
outlines ever in your mind to present to your jury,
in your class-room, or to your prospective customer.
Suppose you engaged to sell a number of copies of
that portrait. Without a proper preparation for the
work you would perhaps say : “ Mr. J., I have a nice
picture here to show you. I am told it represents a
good, pure character. Isn’t it handsome? Every¬
body is pleased with it. May I send you one? I
am selling them very cheap, too.” If Mr. J. is a
cool, sensible person, and has not been already
searching in vain for just such a picture, he will say :
“Yes, it is very pretty, but I will not order one
to-day.” And on what reasonable grounds can you
urge him to buy? You might draw upon your own
fancy, but the imagination which dares to build from
fancies and not from solid facts will be sure to pre¬
sent some false things, which will but damage your
cause ; and to assume a tone of sincerity or put on
a look of earnestness not really felt, is to earn the
contemptible name of a “ brassy - faced ” demagogue.
He has seen nothing in the picture worth buying.
If you gave him a copy without cost it would stand

734

AIDING INFLUENCES.

on his side -table till its general features grew famil¬
iar, and then tumble into the waste-basket. Mr. J.
would be an unconscious loser ; a thing of merit
would be unjustly slighted, and instead of a business
profit for your pains you would have naught but a
just blame.

But suppose that you really knew your subject
and felt strongly the many virtues shadowed forth
in the portrait, your genuine earnestness of manner,
your look and tone of confidence would alone have
secured more than a passing notice from the same
Mr. J. Then you could have said : “ It is really a
pleasure to look at this picture, the figure is so
graceful, the outlines so nearly faultless. The rosy
bloom of health on the cheek pleases us, and then
there is an important feature which, from the posi¬
tion we see the subject, we are apt to overlook ;
that is the fullness of the lower part of the forehead.
The depth of the shadows over the eyes show it,
and it bespeaks that keenness of perception neces¬
sary to discreetness and good judgment. Note, too,
the breadth above the forehead, giving a ready imag¬
ination, the accompaniment of all richly sympa¬
thetic souls.” Then you would call his attention to
the truthful eyes, having no evasive look ; the grace¬
fully poised head, leaning a little, the sign of her
ability to appreciate just praise ; the waves of fine
hair, indicating a refined and gentle nature ; the
lower face, just heavy enough for fair proportions
and a firm character; a chin molded by love’s own

SUCCESSFUL SOLICITING. 735

fairies, and a mouth in whose curves dwell cheerful¬
ness, constancy and the purest chastity. And finally ,
“ It makes a picture, Mr. J., of pure and noble
character well fit for many a moment of thoughtful
attention and admiration.” And you could justly
add : “ I believe you will regard it a wise purchase,
for you can find in it much to interest you, and you
will prize it as a silent, yet cheering and elevating
companion.” Such a treatment of your subject would
at least command Mr. J.’s respect and sympathy.
Now analyze what you are supposed to have done.
You went first and made a thorough acquaintance
with the original of your picture. You found her
full of truth, virtue, merit. Now, when you come to
present her likeness to another, your imagination
calls up your full conception of her, you are thrilled
as if she were herself actually at hand, and you pre¬
sent her in person to Mr. J., who cannot but be
warmed and pleased by the happy acquaintance.

3. Aiding those solicited to form a decision. — The
solicitor will often be perplexed at the last moment by
the hesitation of the person who seems to be only
“ half persuaded.” This hesitation may arise from
three causes ; First, a lack of interest in the project,
or proposal. It is supposed, that the solicited party
had no particular knowledge or care about the project
in hand before the solicitor proposed it, and if the
solicitor has performed the first and second steps of
“The Solicitor’s Work” faithfully and well, and fails to
awaken an interest upon good and honest grounds, his

73&

AIDING INFLUENCES.

success in that case is not to be expected. Second, a
sort of cautious hesitation, a counting of the costs pro
and con, or a lack of confidence in the solicitor, or a
lack of sufficient knowledge upon some point unknown
to the solicitor. To remove these obstacles requires
prompt and honest treatment. Modesty combined with
firmness will command confidence in every thoughful,
honest scheme. If the project is tinctured in any way
with dishonesty, trickery or vice, it will, in spite of
everything, carry in it an odor which all honest people
will soon detect. Having secured confidence, the
solicitor should truthfully yield all the information he
can to enlighten the person solicited upon any point
that person needs to know. Third, a feeling of inde¬
pendence which makes us all dislike to yield or even
appear to yield a point. What would we think of a
solicitor who would go about saying, “ Here, here is a
new idea. It is new, and its merit is beyond question.
You never saw its like before. Get down upon your
knees, sir, and embrace the new idea”? Our contempt
for that solicitor would be equaled only by our pity
for that “ new idea ” which had so foolish a champion.
On the other hand, let the wise solicitor remember
that, as Ben Franklin quotes the fact, men prefer to
be taught as if they had always known the truth, but
have only forgotten it ; and that we like to agree with
the friends we love, and with the intelligent strang-er

o o

as well, if he is but modest and kind-hearted. But long
hesitation must, as a rule, be cut short. In ordinary
business, we can make two new converts while waiting

HONEST METHODS.

737

for a decision from the hesitating party. Promptness
and dispatch, if courteous, may on almost every occa¬
sion be depended upon to get the decision which
harmonizes with just deserts in the case.

' HONEST METHODS.

Truth (see page 515) is always consistent with
itself, and needs nothing to help it out ; it is always
near at hand, and sits upon our lips, and is ready to
drop out before we are aware ; but a lie is trouble¬
some, and sets a man’s invention upon the rack, and
one trick needs a great many more to make it good.
It is like building upon a false foundation, which
constantly stands in need of props to shore it up,
and proves at last more costly than to have raised a
substantial building at first upon a true and solid
foundation ; for sincerity is firm and substantial, and
there is nothing hollow and unsound in it, and
because it is plain and open, fears no discovery, of
which the crafty man is always in danger ; and where
he thinks he walks in the dark, all his pretenses are
so transparent that he who runs may read them ;
he is the last man that finds himself to be found
out ; and while he takes it for granted that he makes
fools of others, he renders himself ridiculous.

A COMMON DIFFICULTY.

There is one difficulty which every person about
to begin on any new enterprise, is almost sure to

meet, and which we should be forewarned against.
47

738 AIDING INFLUENCES.

That is, the criticism and restraint of others. There
seems to be in every community a few people who
take a particular pride in “ speaking their minds.”
Their frankness is little more than another name for
cruelty, and they often say rude and heartless things
for the mere pleasure of saying them. It is really
very serious to observe how the arts of discourage¬
ment prevail. There are men, whose sole pretense
to wisdom consists in administering discouragement.
They seem never to be at a loss. They are equally
ready to prophesy, with wonderful ingenuity, all pos¬
sible varieties of misfortune to any enterprise that is
proposed ; and, when the thing is produced, and has
met with some success, to find a flaw in it. Take
the case of a fine work of art, produced in the pres¬
ence of an eminent fault-finder. He did not deny
that it was beautiful, but he instantly fastened upon
a small crack in it, that nobody had observed ; and
upon that crack he would dilate, whenever the work
was discussed in his presence. Indeed, he did not
see the work, but only the crack in it. That flaw,
that little flaw, was all in all to him.

Imagine ourselves living in the time when wheels
were first invented for making carts to carry burdens,
and let us listen to our chilling friend, as he talks to
the inventor of the wheel something like this: “We
seem to have gone on very well for thousands of
years without this rolling thing. Your father carried
burdens on his back. The king is content to be
carried on men’s shoulders. The high-priest is not

A COMMON DIFFICULTY.

739

too proud to do the same. Indeed, I question whether
it is not irreligious to attempt to shift from men’s
shoulders their natural burdens. Then, as to its suc¬
ceeding — for my part, I see no chance of that.
How can it go up hill ? How is one to stop it
going down? How often you have failed before in
other fanciful things of the same nature ! Besides,
you are losing your time ; and the yams about your
hut are only half planted. You will be a beggar ;
and it is my duty as a friend, to tell you so plainly.
There was a Nang-Chung: what became of him?
We had found fire for ages, in a proper way, taking
a proper time about it, by rubbing two sticks together.
He must needs strike out fire at once with iron and
flint ; and what was the end ? Our sacred lords saw
the impiety of that proceeding, and very justly impaled
the man who imitated the heavenly powers. And,
even if you could succeed with this new and absurd
rolling thing, the state would be ruined. What would
become of those who make their living by carrying
burdens on their backs? Put aside the vain fancies
of a childish mind, and finish the planting of your
yams.”

Who can imagine what the world would be to-day
without wheeled vehicles? What other contrivance
could possibly fill the place of wheels ? Though
the inventor of the wheel was not crushed by his
critical friends, who can guess how many a valuable
thing has been lost to the 'world by these untimely
discouragements ?

o

740

AIDING INFLUENCES.

We often engage in some enterprise or work
which is very different in its nature from any pur¬
sued by anybody else in the community where we
labor. This attracts to us the gaze of the cold-
water pourers, who are found in nearly every neigh¬
borhood. We naturally feel rather lonely in our
task, and desire the sympathy of those around us,
which but gives them additional power over us.
These discouragers are not all of one frame of mind.
Some are led to indulge in this recreation from gen¬
uine timidity. They really do fear that all new
attempts will fail. Others are simply envious and
ill-natured. Then, again, there is a sense of power
and wisdom in prophesying evil. It is the safest
thing to prophesy, for hardly anything at first suc¬
ceeds exactly in the way it was intended to succeed.
Again, there is the lack of imagination, which gives
rise to the utterance of so much discouragement.
It requires more or less imaginative power (page
129) to grasp a new idea, or understand the merits
of a business and conceive of its methods.

Of them all, the well-meaning but timid advisers
are the most dangerous. Their intended kindness
toward us touches our hearts, and it is not easy to
slight their advice ; but if we yield, what do we gain ?
The good will of a coward, nothing more ; his aid
would not be worth much in any new project. And
what do we lose ? Everything.

Even when we are compelled to admit that our
efforts have not been a complete success, we must

A COMMON DIFFICULTY.

741

remember that after all, men do not most usually
succeed through success. They much oftener succeed
through failure. By far the best experience of men
is made up of their remembered failures in dealing
with others in the affairs of life. Such failures in
sensible men, incite to better self-management, and
greater tact and self-control, as a means of avoiding
them in the future. Ask the diplomatist, and he
will tell you that he has learned his art through
being baffled, defeated, thwarted, and circumvented,
far more than from having succeeded. Precept, study,
advice, and example could never have taught them
so well as failure has done. It has disciplined them
experimentally and taught them what to do as well
as what not to do — which is often the more important
in diplomacy.

Many have to make up their minds to encounter
failure again and again before they succeed ; but if they
have pluck, the failure will only serve to rouse their
courage, and stimulate them to make renewed efforts.
Talma, the greatest of actors, was himself hissed off
the stage when he appeared on it. Lacordaire, one of
the greatest preachers of modern times, only acquired
celebrity after repeated failures. Montalembart said
of his first public appearance in the Church of St.
Roch : “He failed completely, and, on coming out,
every one said, ‘Though he may be a man of talent,
he will never be a preacher.’” Again and again he
tried, until he succeeded ; and only two years after his
debut, Lacordaire was preaching in Notre Dame to

742

AIDING INFLUENCES.

audiences such as few French orators have addressed
since the time of Bossuet and Massillon.

Conclusion.

When your occupation is chosen and you are
enlisted in the ranks of earnest strivers, let the soul
of work take possession of your spirit. All true
work is sacred ; in all true work, though it be but
true hand labor, there is something of divineness.
Labor, wide as the earth, has its summit in heaven.
Sweat of the brow ; and up from that to sweat of
the brain, sweat of the heart, which includes all
Kepler calculations, Newton meditations, all sciences,
all spoken epics, all acted heroisms, martyrdoms, —
up to that “agony of bloody sweat,” which all men
have called divine ! Oh, brother, if this is not wor¬
ship, then, I say, the more pity for worship ; for this
is the noblest thing yet discovered under God’s sky.
Who art thou that complainest of thy life of toil ?
Complain not. Look up, my wearied brother; see
thy fellow-workmen there in God’s eternity ; sur¬
viving there, they alone surviving ; sacred band of
immortals, celestial body-guard of the empire of
mankind.

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